Intrigues of the Soul Hunters
by Khodexus
Summary: In Commorragh, the city of the Dark Eldar, the Soul Hunters Kabal is beginning its rise to power. They must conquer rivals, forge alliances, and defeat enemies of all races in order to survive. And there are many who would love to see them fail
1. War Room

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 1: War Room**

Chapter Summary: Introduction to the Soul Hunters Kabal, led by an Archon who may seem familiar to some. We get to see the interesting chemistry between our main characters.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing, no violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

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Life was good, for the Soul Hunters Kabal, secure in their fortress deep within the shadowed city of Commorragh, enjoying the spoils of victory from recent battles. But Khirareq, high archon, and supreme ruler of the Kabal, had plans for them, which would unfortunately necessitate cutting this time short.

Her armoured footfalls echoed hollowly through the dim hallways in the upper echelons of her Kabal fortress within the dark city. Her cloak billowed around her measuring the space of her route, the chill breeze of her passage marking an invisible line along the dim corridors none of the other Dark Eldar dared to cross. Her retinue of loyal incubi marched silently behind her, watching with unseen eyes all that they passed. The crackling blades on her bodyguard's punisher klaives would systematically cut down any who came close enough to touch her cape, and those who did not bow when she passed would likewise be dispatched, none were so foolish on this particular day as to earn the guardians' wrath, no doubt sensing the excited tension of their mistress, a sure sign that some new scheme was on her mind.

At the end of the gloomy hallway stood the grand doors to her war room, etched with a fantastic mural depicting her first victory as leader of the Soul Hunters Kabal. They opened quickly on powerful motors as she approached so that she did not have to break stride to enter the room. This room was always musty; the oval chamber had no windows, only murals in the alcoves along the walls depicting battles and victories of the Kabal. Her incubi bodyguards fanned out around her moving without a sound in their heavy powered armour as the assembled leaders of her Kabal stood at her entrance, an honor they paid her out of fear more than true loyalty. Only the Incubi who guarded her every moment gave her loyalty, none of the other Dark Eldar, who referred to themselves as the True Kin, were capable of such a thing. The only light in the room came from the crystalline surface of the table they stood around, its warm surface displaying a hovering three dimensional image of the star system they'd recently departed from after winning many victories against the galactic Imperium of Man.

As Khirareq sat she observed her generals, most of whom gave her looks of varying degrees of hate, except for her daughter the Syren Shiroq. They despised her, yet feared her; as was common for leaders and their followers amongst the True Kin. They quickly took their assigned seats around the star map once Khirareq herself was seated, their armor shifting audibly along with the soft rustle of padding, capes, and other adornments. No one would show up to a semi-public meeting such as this without protection. Each throne was a twisted work of art reflecting the tastes and status of its bearer, rare metals, and intricate runes adorned each one, along with symbolic representations of their greatest achievements; lesser versions of the murals and mosaics adorning the rest of the room depicting Khirareq's own victories. She was known as the Battle Mistress, or the Queen of War. For her passion was combat, not like the Wyches who fought in the arenas, mere gladiators who made an art of slaughter. She was an artist of a different sort; a master of strategy.

She crossed her legs, encased in black and night blue mesh armor, and laid her hands in her lap, idly stroking her right hand with her gauntleted left. A habit she'd picked up many years ago when her turquoise wraithbone hand had first been constructed for her after she'd lost her original hand during a failed assassination attempt of her former master. Thinking of that time always made her angry, and so she put those thoughts aside as she faced her generals around the table, their faces cast into eerie shadow by the lights of their map table.

There were five generals seated in the room with her, two on each side of the elongated glowing table, and one on the far end, facing Khirareq through the translucent screen of the holographic star system. To her left sat the Dracon Vallus, who aspired to be her second in command. A well built but not overly large Eldar with straight black hair and equally dark eyes, he carried with him the lingering metallic scent of blood spilt in close proximity. He was known as the Dueling Lord, in recognition of his fierce skills combating enemy generals and heroes toe to toe.

To his left sat Khirareq's own daughter Shiroq, known to the Kabal as the Daughter of Victory. She'd been conceived the night Khirareq first claimed the command of her own Kabal and became a High Archon, supreme ruler of the Kabal of the Soul Hunters, wresting power from the previous weak High Archon. They looked virtually identical, with the same raven hair, and deep purple eyes, the irises nearly blending with their black orbs in the dim light, though Shiroq's face was perhaps slightly more youthful. Khirareq appeared very young herself, especially compared to one of the Mon Keigh, or humans, of the Imperium, she'd lived for over a thousand years and looked no older than a human woman of 30. However in personality, mother and daughter could not have been more different, Khirareq valued cunning and logic, where as Shiroq valued little more than ferocity and creativity, she was a dancer, a very deadly dancer, but still a performer, in her way.

Her Haemonculus master Threchul sat opposite her, regarding her as always with that slightly insane half smile of amusement, as if he watched a secret drama unfolding in his head at all times, and regarded it as exceptionally entertaining. He was unnaturally cold to stand near, and smelled consistently of exotic drugs and chemicals. He was also brilliant, if not quite accomplished enough to be considered a Master of his craft, and not quite old enough to be considered an Ancient along with many of his immortal kin, he had still proven himself time and again to Khirareq's mind, and was master over her scientific and torturer staff, even if he did not bear the more official title.

To Khirareq's immediate right was Dracon Gnarsyl. His nicknames were many, but mostly unflattering. He was known as the Devious One, or sometimes the Great Widower; both fairly apt descriptions in Khirareq's opinion. His tactics in battle tended to favor long range assaults, and while usually effective, led some to question his courage. He was pale, even for an Eldar, and appeared fragile, though he'd killed his share of upstarts who mistook his appearance for actual weakness. Khirareq attributed his appearance primarily to his obsession with cleanliness. He thoroughly enjoyed cleaning himself, or having himself cleaned by a shapely slave, one could usually detect the hint of his slave's perfumes on him, except when he was called on official business as he was now; he did not wish to irritate his Lord with an unappealing scent afterall.

Lastly, Dracon Lethis, sat between Gnarsyl and Threchul. She liked to call herself Death's Shadow. Her personal exploits were few, despite her flawless record, most of her victories Khirareq could attribute to the skill and ingenuity of her elite troops. With her startling sky blue eyes, and dark reddish hair, she appeared younger than she was, though her age was not yet great. She preferred to keep her hair long, wearing half helms in battle which let it blow free in the wind, and it generally trailed down behind her legs when she was standing.

Each of her generals held great potential for her Kabal, and her leadership, though whether that would be turned for or against her interests remained to be seen. However, Khirareq's primary concern was generally her daughter, she could never seem to predict how the girl would react to things. They seemed to have a silent agreement not to treat each other any differently than if they had not been family, but merely normal unrelated members of the same Kabal. Her Dracons watched them both for signs of weakness. And, affection, even maternal affection, could be seen as favoritism, definitely a trait a strong ruler wished to avoid.

"I have chosen our next target." She said, her voice soft but commanding, carrying throughout the room, they could all see her clearly enough to read her dark stained lips if they chose, for the Dark Eldar were gifted with extremely acute night vision. She knew her news would upset some of them, as it had only been a few days since their last raid and they had not been given much time to enjoy their 'spoils'; the numerous slaves and other resources they had brought back with them. But, it couldn't be helped; she'd discovered an invaluable opportunity which could not be passed by. She was pleased to note however, that none of her generals showed any outward signs of their displeasure, not even her eccentric Haemonculus master.

"Who do we get to slaughter this time?" The speaker was, of course, Khirareq's daughter Shiroq. The girl had shown a lot of promise in her early years, and still did; however, her exuberant bloodlust was generally a source of irritation for her coldly calculating mother.

"Syren Shiroq, the question is not who, but what." Khirareq's statement elicited a few raised eyebrows, but for the most part her Dracons merely looked bored. "Who here has heard of the alien scourge known as the Tyranids?" She asked, noting that her daughter and her Haemonculus were the only ones who showed any visible interest in the subject. Even so, it was one of her Dracons who answered.

"A race of mutants whose weapons are all organic in nature; they have power certainly, but no technology, at least not in any form we recognize. Some of them are intelligent and even potent psykers, but most are little more than especially deadly animals. They travel through space in giant behemoths resembling monstrous living spacecraft, and devour the life and resources of entire worlds in their wake. They are like a plague, destroying all they touch, though the Imperium has seemed to have some success against them with their vaunted 'Space Marines' I believe the Tau Empire also has evaded annihilation by this cunning threat so far." Vallus, the Dueling Lord was less than impassioned in his speech, leaning forwards with his arms braced on the table, clasped in a gesture which may have been feigned intensity, but Khirareq had to give him marks for his knowledge of the subject.

"We're going to capture some bugs?" Shiroq asked before the High Archon could continue, brightening visibly as she contemplated the news. Her vicious smile would have chilled most Mon Keigh had they seen her, her tongue running silently along her teeth as if she were savoring the taste of slaughter already. She possessed the immensely irritating trait of being able to get excited about anything on extremely short notice, and seemed to wear her energetic emotions on her face at all times, her mother doubted she even knew what the word subtlety meant.

Khirareq drew in a soft breath through her nose, letting the metallic scent of the room cool her emotions before she replied. "We are going into battle against the Tyranids, yes." She stated flatly attempting to keep her expression passive for the sake of her other generals. She let her gaze travel back around the table so she wouldn't be overly irritated by Shiroq's unquenchable mirth. "Since this is our first engagement against the species we will be testing the waters, and not fully committing our forces. My scouts have located a small splinter hive, and I wish to launch our assault before the Imperials on the planet become aware of their new guests. With luck we can capture a few of the creatures and leave without anyone knowing we were there, I'm going to…"

"We're not going to leave any trophies or talismans behind?" Shiroq protested, her voice rising in pitch to an ear scratching whine. She seemed to live for the infliction of fear, admiration, or awe. She was very much a showman, but showmanship had little place in the Archon's plans. Khirareq suppressed a longsuffering sigh, her eyes narrowing as a subtle warning to the Daughter of Victory to remember her place before she turned her attention back to the assembled generals as a group.

"That would defeat the purpose of concealing our presence now wouldn't it, Syren?" She made the title into an insult, allowing some of her irritation to pass from her into the stinging retort. It wasn't hard really; she was the only Syren, or Wych Lord, in Khirareq's employ. She'd found the Wych Cults to be a little too unreliable to employ long term in her Kabal, most of them were not interested in her style of calculated warfare, preferring gruesome displays of prowess over precise tactical strikes. That had of course changed when Shiroq had joined the Cult ranks, and become a Hekatrix, a lesser leader among the gladiators. She'd eventually returned to her mother's Kabal with an entire squad of Wyches behind her, and had earned a place for herself at her mother's side, attracting more squads of the gladiator melee specialists as the years passed and her rank grew from Hekatrix to Syren. The girl was annoying yes, and Khirareq disapproved of many of the decisions she'd made over the years, however she had brought strategically valuable troops to her army, and continued to keep them in line, something Khirareq herself had been unable to do with the Wyches. This was the official reason she was allowed in the Kabal, both of them liked to pretend it was the only reason.

"Well the bugs will at least know we were there. Unless we have some way to neutralize their hive mind communications…" Shiroq mused aloud, tapping one finger thoughtfully against her sculpted chin, referring of course to the psychic communication link all the Tyranid leaders shared, communicating across the void between stars in a manner unparalleled by Imperial technology, though the Eldar had far superior communications through their Webway.

Khirareq almost smiled, but managed to suppress the undesirable expression, leaning back in her throne and placing her hands on the arms of her chair in a controlled posture. "For once, Shiroq has managed to bring up a pertinent precedent." She began, startling her daughter into the same expression she herself had just resisted, those pretty stained lips parting ever so slightly as she grinned, "I have already spoken with Master Threchul; he will explain the apparatus he has invented for just this occasion." She gestured with her artificial hand to the Haemonculus who stood with a flourish and a bow. The Haemonculi were a useful tool, though many were almost as unreliable as the Wyches. They cared not for politics and intrigues, but only their arts, and their inventions. Khirareq's Haemonculi were chosen for their interest in more martial sciences, and she provided them with whatever resources they needed to conduct their experiments, provided they continued to create new technologies useful for war. Threchul, however, was guardian to many much more priceless things than a talent for torture and sciences.

"Many thanks, your worship," The twisted man began, his voice a little strange; augmented as it was by some cybernetic enhancement he'd implanted in himself years ago. His expression seemed permanently etched into that bemused smile, his typically black eyes glittering from deep in his skull beneath the layers of surgically grafted implants and organic treatments which made up his face, and gave off a most unappealing odor he could never seem to get rid of. As he spoke he gestured enthusiastically with his similarly gruesome and enhanced hands, capturing Shiroq's avid attention, though the Dracons each schooled their countenances to disinterest; Khirareq did not encourage emotional displays among her followers. "You all know the basic concept behind what we call a Malediction Crucible, we trap the tortured souls of powerful psykers in these portable devices in order to release them in battle. The insane spirits project their insanity psychically which is potentially debilitating to receptive psykers if they do not properly defend themselves. I have been preparing a few 'choice' souls for insertion into such a device for some time, and at our Cruel Mistress' suggestion I calculated some new techniques for torturing the individuals in question. I have manipulated them in such a way that in addition to projecting their insanity into receptive vessels, they will also temporarily sever long range mental telepathy of any such vessels they encounter. In theory this effect should be enough to temporarily block the hive mind communications of a Tyranid synapse creature (one of their leaders), long enough for them to be captured, or silenced. Once inside the webway, beyond the boundaries of normal space, any synapse creature we may capture will be unable to reestablish its link. I can only imagine what that sort of forced separation would do to such a mind. It makes me shiver just thinking of the exquisite…"

"That will be sufficient." Khirareq interrupted with a curt nod and a dismissive gesture before the Haemonculus could further elaborate, leaning forwards once more to rest her hands on the table, resuming her idle tracing of patterns on her artificial hand with her remaining organic one. While she certainly enjoyed the satisfaction of consuming countless souls in agony, she found the intricacies of the torture arts tedious, in conversation.

"We're really going to catch some bugs then!" Shiroq proclaimed loudly, rubbing her pale hands together eagerly in a near imitation to her mother's habitual gesture, "This will be worth leaving the Imperials in ignorance. Perhaps we can find a way to tame them, the Cult of the Seventh Woe has let loose some tantalizing rumors on their techniques for capturing…"

"That… will also be sufficient, Shiroq." Khirareq reiterated, frowning ever so slightly, her thin eyebrows drawing together in a barely perceptible sign of her growing temper. She wished the younger woman would take something seriously for once. She noted Gnarsyl, the Widower nodding perceptibly, likely sharing her sentiment towards the overly enthusiastic Syren. For some reason this sign of disapproval of her daughter's actions from one of her Dracons annoyed her, and she made a mental note to keep an eye on Gnarsyl. "I have no intention of losing any more of our forces than absolutely necessary, so I have decided to attempt to capture a simple brood warrior; the weakest of their synapse creatures. I do not want anyone attempting to incapacitate any of the larger Tyranids we may encounter. Anything heavier than forty circs is to be destroyed at range, is that understood?" Her penetrating glare swept the assemblage, and encountered no unexpected resistance to the idea. Shiroq's resistance was, unfortunately, expected, and her mother was not disappointed.

Shiroq frowned petulantly as she drew in a deep breath readying for a prolonged argument, "But a Tyrant, mother, if we…"

"Do **not** call me that, Syren!" Khirareq's furious outburst silenced the room, so that they could all hear her shout echoing back at them from the ribbed walls of the elliptical chamber. She realized she was standing, her form rigid with outrage, and forcibly calmed herself as she sat back down slowly with as much dignity and grace as she could muster; her wraithbone claws leaving shallow grooves in the table where she'd gripped it as she'd risen. "A Tyrant is out of the question. Perhaps if we are successful in this raid I will authorize the hunting of larger specimen in the future. But there will be no argument on the matter, Syren…"

No one else spoke, not even Shiroq. She knew how far she could push her mother and escape punishment, and she'd just reached her limit. "Now, I _was_ going to ask for a volunteer to lead this assault force, but since Shiroq seems so interested in the 'bugs' I can only assume she'd be delighted to." Khirareq continued in a cold voice, turning her daughter's infuriating ineloquence to her hopeful advantage after a moment of contemplation.

They all knew it was a punishment of sorts, even though Shiroq was most certainly relieved. It could have been much worse; she could have been forbidden to go, something she wasn't sure she'd be able to stand. This way she'd have a chance to redeem herself from her mistake, and she'd still get to be involved in the coming battle. She spoke softly, still nervous about her blatant breach of their unspoken etiquette, "I'll prepare my Hekatrixes right away and…"

"I'll be assigning you two squads of warriors, Shiroq." The Syren's head snapped up, her lavender eyes searching her mother's identical orbs for any hint of mockery or sarcasm, and found none. She'd never led Kabal warriors into combat before, only her personal Wyches and Hekatrixes. She wouldn't know the Sybarites who led the squads of warriors either, though she would have to learn quickly if she were to succeed.

Shiroq's normal enthusiasm was completely subdued beneath the weight of her uncertainty and vulnerability. She lowered her eyes not looking at her mother directly, knowing she'd be unable to keep her emotions from showing in her expression, and so instead studied the table in front of her as her mind raced. "But, Archon… My wyches…" She began, uncertain what she would do without the familiarity of her own troops under her leadership.

"…Will not be accompanying you. It's time you learned something about command. We shall see how well you handle yourself amongst unfamiliar troops. Besides, I have already said I wish to handle this with a minimum of casualties. That means tackling the monsters at range. Your wyches would only be slaughtered in melee, and while you may consider that an unavoidable outcome, I consider it an unnecessary expenditure of resources. Do I make myself clear?" Khirareq was pleased with her own foresight and quick thinking, but still irritated enough that her scowl merely softened, growing less intense as she glared at her daughter.

Shiroq bowed her head in subservience, already thinking about her strategy, and how she could use this to her advantage. "As an infinity circuit." She intoned, quoting the ancient Eldar phrase with grave formality.

There were a few more details to work out, but the strategy meeting was mostly finished. When Khirareq finally left, her bodyguards closing ranks behind her once again, she felt a momentary thrill. This would be something new, and entertaining. She hadn't realized it until now, but she'd been growing bored of her victories. She was becoming too skilled, and there was no longer much challenge in fighting the Imperium. Against a new enemy with new tactics and weapons, it would force her to adapt her own strategies. It would also be very interesting to see how Shiroq handled herself. She was no longer angry, but rather pleased at the outcome. She'd managed to turn her emotional outburst into something which could very well prove advantageous. And that of course, was what she lived for. Victory would come, one way or another, and Khirareq would bask in the pleasurable warmth of that achievement. That would satisfy her, for a time at least.

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Author's Comments: This is the first in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq) which I did not invent.


	2. Valley Raid

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 2: Valley Raid**

Chapter Summary: The battle is joined and Shiroq returns with the spoils. Yet their passage does not go unnoticed, are these new warriors friends or enemies?

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts, violence, and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

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It was a clear night, the stars shining brightly through the crisp frozen atmosphere. Snow and ice covered the entire landscape, even subduing the lights of the nearby settlement, everything was frozen, not just the ice, and the stale air carried few actual scents. No creatures stirred, there was no need for movement yet, or so the nest thought.

Shiroq scanned the closely packed nest in the icy valley below, a cluster of man sized gaunts huddled together near the base of the hill, with the larger warriors watching over them from a little further in. Mist rose from vents dug into the earth, where presumably more of the Tyranids incubated. Another group of snow covered critters lay in wait, among the wreckage of an old Imperial shuttle near the far end of the tiny valley, a little larger than the gaunts, but smaller than the warriors.

The Tyranid broods were each distinctive in their way, both in their behavior and appearance. The gaunts were like big dogs, bred on instinct alone, fighting with tooth, claw, talon, or the occasional organic weapon symbiote the Tyranids were so well known for. They ran on the back four of their six legs, balanced by a long powerful tail, their weapons grafted to their foremost limbs. Armored in a thick carapace and exoskeleton, they were difficult to kill, compared to most creatures their size. And while they were often referred to by the nickname 'bugs' their resemblance to insects was not really that striking. Six limbs, with a carapace/exoskeleton which somewhat resembled the segmented limbs of a real bug was where it ended. They had vicious teeth, and eyes set back inside their skulls, and even tongues, all traits of much larger mammals or reptiles.

Really, the closest thing Shiroq could compare a gaunt to was a canine. A creature very common on Imperium worlds, and one which Shiroq had seen in the arenas many times. Only, to assume that a gaunt was as easy to kill as a pathetic dog would be foolish in the extreme.

The warriors were much larger, and heavier, but also slower, standing upright on their backmost legs with a thick carapace capable of deflecting most small arms fire. An intelligent gleam reflected in their otherwise cold eyes, and to one such as Shiroq there was no mistaking their psionic potential. They were Synaptic nodes, channels for the hive mind's power, and directly controlled the lesser broods, such as the gaunts. Yet, unlike many psykers Tyranid Warriors were also in prime physical condition, fully capable of ripping an Eldar in half. Armed with a wide variety of weapon symbiotes, the warrior fought standing tall, towering over its foes and glaring down with cunning black orbs beneath an armored crest sweeping back along its head. There were only three Warriors, that Shiroq could see, and though they didn't know it yet, at least one of them would be taken back into the webway with her that night.

She crept down from the top of the hill, to consult her 'troops'. Both Sybarites stood waiting, a few yards apart, just out of weapon reach from each other. Behind them, the two groups of their subordinate warriors talked among themselves, most of them had their helmets on, concealing their expressions behind the brooding metallic faces, and protecting them from the elements.

Shiroq herself was simply ignoring the cold, as she'd been trained to do during her time in the arenas. Her more stylized helmet had been set aside while she'd been scouting, her flowing half skirt wafting in the chill breeze over her thinner armour. She was a Wych Lord, and wasn't about to let these Kabalites forget it by over-encumbering herself with bulky clothing or armour. Her normally pale skin was already blending in with the white snow, all color lost behind the cold and frost.

She would not freeze though, even if her training had not been enough, she was further augmented by the drugs flowing through her veins, providing artificial heat and adrenaline. Once the battle was joined, a simple psychic impulse would activate a dispenser inside her, releasing more drugs into her system to enhance her performance, make her stronger, faster, inured to pain, whatever she felt she needed at the time.

They were well disciplined, compared to the Wyches she normally led, but she still didn't trust them. They served out of fear, and ambition. Ambition could be a dangerous thing in one lacking influence, and the wisdom to bide his time. At least with her Wyches she could trust their motives. Wyches lived for the glory of combat, the dance of death, as they called it. A Wych advanced by proving their skills, it seemed to her that Warriors advanced in rank by plotting against their superiors.

Still, if there was one thing she could rely on it was their bloodlust. Their very appearance spoke of death, and pain. Their mesh armour adorned by razor sharp blades lethal enough to take off a limb from a single misstep in battle. They were almost as dangerous to each other as they would be to her enemies. No Dark Eldar stood too close to another, trust was a primitive concept fit only for lesser creatures. The True Kin understood that every creature would act in their own best interest when put to the test, so it was a leader's prerogative to ensure that her follower's best interests served her own as well. Fear, ambition, and pleasure, were the tools of a leader. Every servant feared the leader's wrath, feared her punishments, and her cruel whims. Every servant should be ambitious enough to distinguish himself. And, every servant would anticipate the pleasure of their leader's rewards when they had succeeded. Loyalty was an illusion, a mask worn by the ambitious to hide their treachery.

"Sybarite Hrien, prepare your team for battle." She spoke, just loud enough for them to hear, "I want suppressive fire against those bugs as soon as we're in range and you've activated the crucible. Sybarite Zerboren, get your troops mounted up, I'll be riding with you on your Raider, get me close enough to charge those warriors, then sit back and let loose at range. Everyone clear?"

They nodded their assent, the 'eyes' of their helmets bobbing with a soft silver glow, and everyone readied their weapons. Shiroq waited till they were moving before leaping up onto the transport platform on the side of the Raider. The Raider was a perfectly designed vehicle. Built around a single powerful thermal thrust engine with anti-gravitic motors built on either side, it wasted no space or speed on armour. Very customizable with mounting points for a variety of upgrades, the Raider's main deck could easily accommodate nearly a dozen eldar, plus a handful of slaves strapped to the deck. The pilot had a clear field of view from the elevated seat near the back, and the front most area was fitted with a lightly armoured emplacement for a single gun. Normally, a dark lance was fitted in the gun mounting for use against enemy vehicles. But considering the Tyranids had never been known to use anything even resembling a real vehicle, Shiroq had chosen to replace the dark lance with a more versatile disintegrator cannon, a weapon capable of firing devastating bolts of dark matter with high speed, range, and accuracy.

She crouched with her weapons in hand as she pulled her helmet down over her face against the rising wind of the Raider's movement. Her breath came back to her, smelling sweet from the rebreathers built into her helmet. The display on the insides of the built in goggles highlighted the enemies as they approached in warm colors starkly contrasted to the now dark snow and ice. 11 Gaunts, 3 Warriors, and 6 of whatever the creatures to the rear were, against her 2 Sybarites, 14 Warriors on foot, 6 Warriors on the Raider, and of course, herself.

Whatever the outcome, this battle would be quick, and brutal.

Shiroq motioned for the Raider to hang back as her warrior infantry got into position ahead of them, they ran lightly, vaulting over low rocks with their long thin-bladed rifles clutched single handed. Hrien carried the crucible of malediction fastened to his belt, sealed tightly to prevent accidental activation. Snow glare glinted off of blades and edges of armor plates as they moved, making less noise than the wind itself.

"Syren, they stir!" Zerboren announced, one gauntleted hand held outwards with his bladed index finger pointing towards the waiting Tyranids. A shimmering glint of light off of moving snow gave further proof of his observation.

Her own visor highlighted the movements of their targets. "Bring me in close." She commanded, activating the double claw weapon mounted on her forearm. The blades crackled with energy and extended out past her fingers as the Raider surged forwards. _"Activate the crucible, Hrien."_ She added a mental command through the psy-transmitters mounted inside her helmet, nodding as she saw her troops responding below as the raider picked up speed and elevation, flying over a large piece of the ship which had crashed in this valley however many years ago.

There was a light 'cracking' sound followed by high pitched whistles as the warriors on the ground opened fire at the nearest gaunts. A hail of crystal splinters from their rifles cut through the air refracting light into glimmering rainbows as they elicited screeches of pain from the primitive beasts, who immediately turned towards this threat, guided by a will not their own, and charged.

The poisoned splinters slowed the gaunts down as they cut into them, killing many before they even realized they were hurt, occasionally severing tendons and sending the creatures tumbling into the snow banks becoming increasingly splattered by Tyranid blood as they tried to move forwards.

A pair of deep vibrations echoed through the small valley, robbing the air of noise as twin beams of black energy lanced through a pair of gaunts at point blank range from the blasters carried by the warriors below her, a brief moment later they were joined by the almost painful thuds of their heavier dark lance cousins cutting the remaining gaunt in two.

A single volley had destroyed an entire brood of gaunts, before they could even activate whatever weapon symbiotes they'd had grafted to their bodies. A very efficient kill, though Shiroq thought it a little bit of a waste that they'd been decimated so quickly, before she'd even had a chance to have a little fun. Though some of them still twitched and writhed, their bodies still trying to kill their enemies even as they were dying.

An almost inaudible scream of pure torment and hate echoed in their psychically attuned minds, as the shimmering specter of the psyker souls released from Hrien's crucible flew enraged across the battlefield blocking long range telepathy throughout the area. The psychic Tyranids seemed unharmed by this, but as had been predicted, slightly confused as well. The Warriors would maintain control over the nearby broods but would be unable to contact the greater hive mind for a time. Shiroq hoped it would be enough time.

"There!" She pointed at the Tyranid warriors behind the freshly felled gaunts, and the steersman of the Raider angled their flight to loop just in front of them, allowing the raider squad to open fire at close range with their splinter rifles and disintegrator as she leapt off the side and tumbled end over end in two perfect loops before landing lightly on her feet, activating the shadow field generator at her waist as she ducked behind some frozen wreckage.

An alien roar of frustration more than pain rose ahead of her as the explosive disintegrator shot from the moving raider blew the warrior closest to her into two pieces. Amazingly, the creature was still alive even as it was blown apart in opposing directions, its eyes tracking Shiroq as she charged towards it, and it's still living brothers.

She ducked out of the way as a web of barely shimmering threads shot past her from one of her warriors on the Raider, expanding rapidly into a lethal monofilament mesh as it opened up onto one of the Tyranid leaders in front of her, punctuated by the glimmer of crystal splinters traveling at high speeds into their armoured flesh.

The Warrior lowered its armoured crest and knocked the light webbing aside as it growled, stomping forwards towards the dark eldar to her right on the ground. She took a moment crouching next to a wrecked portion of the Imperial landing vessel to take stock of the battle at hand.

The creatures behind the warriors were Gene Stealers, she realized, a hybrid Tyranid organism which had been infecting human worlds throughout the galaxy, breeding with the Mon Keigh to produce more Tyranids. A rather disgusting thought, all told, and Shiroq motioned to her entrenched warriors and sent a brief psychic message through the amplifier in her helmet, _"Shoot the stealers!"_ she instructed, as the tyranid warriors in front of them opened fire with their organic weapons.

A cluster of writhing maggot-like organisms was launched out of the 'mouth' of one of the symbiote weapons grafted to the warrior's hands, narrowly missing her own warrior's as they ducked out of the way, before the mass of volatile vermin expanded harmlessly into the snow behind them.

Immediately following that a ball of acid spewed forth from the second Warrior's organic weapon catching one hapless dark eldar in the chest. The chemical instantly burned through his armor and dissolved the unfortunate warrior's torso allowing him a brief moment to scream before he was dead, mercifully quick. There probably wasn't enough left of him to even give to the Haemonculi. Shiroq thought, as she sprinted the last few yards towards her foe.

Two lances of negative energy cut the air between the biggest 'bugs' in front of her as another volley of splinters shot past from the crouching warrior's rifles. A few shots ricocheted harmlessly off of the thick carapace of the massive beasts, but then they weren't aiming at the synapse creatures.

The gene stealers catching up with their leaders shrieked as poisoned crystal shards and black beams of negative energy found their softer flesh and felled three quarters of the brood, leaving only 2 wounded gene stealers standing.

They didn't seem to care about the pain of their injuries, and showed no sign of stopping as Shiroq crouched, her splinter pistol held to one side as she leapt through the air to land on the nearest synapse creature. She didn't even bother firing the weapon, choosing instead to close the distance as quickly as possible, activating her drug dispenser with a mental impulse and laughing as a specific cocktail of sensory and reflex enhancing drugs flooded her system.

With a wild cry of euphoria and blood lust she stabbed downwards with her energized claw. The shock field allowed the weapon to pass right through the hardened carapace of the warrior beneath her, and into the back of its neck. The crackling energy spiked agonizing pain through its entire nervous system, stunning the beast as it roared and thrashed in involuntary spasms.

She leaned out of the way of one of the creature's talons as she pushed deeper, and twisted her arm, panting from the effort as she pulled upwards and out, ripping her opponent's spine at the neck, and sending its ridged head flying across the battlefield, blood and ichor spattering the snow, and her armor as it fell. She dove as it collapsed, and rolled to her feet, a chill running down her spine as a bit of snow found its way inside the back of her armor, but spun immediately to face the remaining foe.

She couldn't kill this one; they needed this last one alive.

She caught her breath as the warrior took a few swings at her, noting that the remaining gene stealers were dead, torn apart by the splinter cannon carried by one of the warriors on the raider, its bladed form gliding in an effortless crescent to come back her way, in case she needed support.

Her eyes widened as she spotted movement behind it, near the other end of the valley, something big, and dangerous. _"Evasive action!"_ she screamed through the now muffled psionic pathways between her and her troops, directing the command to the pilot of the raider. The craft twisted in mid-flight, the warriors on board grabbing the rail as a blast of some living tissue almost grazed the hull of the vehicle, the monstrous Tyranid carnifex approaching from the enemy's rear quickly taking aim with its weapon again at the retreating skimmer.

There was little in the Tyranid swarms as massive as a carnifex, or as deadly, and they had expected this to be a very small nest, they hadn't counted on the enemy having backup of that magnitude. Its head held low as it trudged forwards, gradually picking up speed as the horns on its heavy carapace swayed with each step. It weighed easily more than 2 or even 3 raiders in compact muscle and nearly impenetrable natural armour. It could rip apart a tank with its bare claws, or batter down the strongest fortress wall with nothing but its powerful bulk.

She turned her attention back to the warrior in front of her and danced around it for a brief moment as it took swings at her, roaring in her face as it attempted rather single mindedly to tear her apart with its talons. She waited for a good opening before dancing forwards, her legs braced and spread wide in a low stance as she struck, the blades of her agoniser piercing the creature's abdomen hopefully close enough to the spine to knock it out from the nerve wrecking energy crackling through its system.

It roared, spasming as she backed away to avoid its flailing limbs. She leapt forwards again immediately striking a second time, higher in its chest feeling crimson ichor flow around her hand and down her arm as it toppled almost on top of her, wounded and stunned but not quite dead. She quickly motioned the raider closer as it retreated from the carnifex. _"Get this thing on deck." _She ordered, flushing her system clean of the performance enhancing chemicals with another mental impulse.

She turned, and smiled as she spotted the decapitated head of the other Warrior a short distance away, scooping up the skull still dripping blood and ichor onto the snow and her gauntlet and shoving it onto a bladed spike rising from the back of her armor for just such an ornament. The sight of such an impressive trophy would inspire her troops to depend on her skills, at least that was the general theory. Shiroq enjoyed capturing such mementos enough that she'd have kept the 'trophy rack' even if it hadn't been inspiring.

"_Syren!"_ She turned in time to see the glaring white snow behind them come alive springing through the air at Hrien's warriors with the heavy weapons. An icy talon longer than an eldar was tall slashed one of the kabalites in half as they reacted with panic to this new threat.

_That must be a lictor._ She thought to herself as she rushed back to engage it. The tall tentacle faced creatures were rare, but rightly feared, blending into their surroundings like chameleons. If that wasn't enough their bodies absorbed many types of energy used in scanner systems, which of course was why the visor of her helmet hadn't picked it up before now, even though it had been here the whole time, hiding near one of the steaming vents.

Sybarite Hrien faced off against the lictor as his subordinates supported him with a few carefully aimed splinter shots, and the blades of their own weapons. Hrien's dagger had notches along the blade revealing the presence of poison ducts throughout the dark metal.

Shiroq smiled a little to herself as she closed the distance, Hrien had come prepared despite the low chance that they'd be forced to fight anything up close. Hrien managed to graze the monster with his poisoned blade as Shiroq paused to glance back towards the Raider and the approaching carnifex. It was moving fast now, and she hoped the raider would snare the wounded warrior and drag it on board before it caught up to them.

She turned back and fired off a few shots with her splinter pistol as she came up behind the lictor as its lower pair of claws managed to wound a few more of her warriors. It was becoming easier to make out as it fought, moving too quickly for its body to blend in perfectly with the surroundings. It turned enough to spot her with its dark emotionless eyes as she ducked under a blood stained claw and brought her agoniser up into the creature's chest, just below the tendrils trailing from its lower face, scenting the air and following her movements.

Once again her crackling blades overwhelmed the body of her opponent, the lictors boney hide shifting colors sporadically as its central nervous system burned out, robbing the life from its eyes, and denying them a useful 'slave'. It fell quietly, its weight sending up a spray of snow around them as she wiped her bloodstained gauntlet against her skirt.

She kicked the lictor's body as it lay motionless in the crimson snow, panting with exertion, and trying to ignore the cold creeping along her limbs. She wasn't tiring, just yet, but the battle was starting to take its toll, on all of them.

Another shot, and a writhing tangle of some vine like creature impacted the snow back the way they'd come, yet again almost hitting the raider as it moved away from the warrior corpses with their prize caught in barbed nets to drag the Tyranid Warrior on board. They were now putting as much distance between themselves and the carnifex as possible.

The tusked behemoth that was the carnifex bore down on them, fast overrunning their position as Shiroq sent out yet another order. _"Get that wraith' damned portal opened!"_ She screamed mentally at her reinforcements in the webway.

They were close enough now to smell the creature's foul breath as it licked a fanged maw, eager for the kill. Her warriors backed up, beginning to panic as it became clear it would catch them before the portal could be opened.

Shiroq sent another dose of combat drugs surging through her system as she screamed a wild battle cry and launched herself towards a monster large enough to swallow her whole, her form dripping the blood of her enemies and feeling alive with the lust for battle and the adrenaline of staring almost certain death in the face.

* * *

The dim currents of the webway were disrupted by the blast of cold air surging through the snow-white portal suddenly tearing open in the twilight. The high-pitched screech of crystal splinters piercing the air and a great roaring battle cry destroyed the relative quiet of moments before. Two eldar, left to wait while Shiroq launched her attack, immediately moved out of the way when they saw what was rapidly approaching from the other side of the rift. The single raider surged through first, the bladed vanes above the steering column just barely clearing the top of the portal, as it narrowly missed their comrades leaping aside. The 5 Eldar on board stopped firing as their trajectory took them beyond line of sight to their enemies. Sybarite Zerboren kept a careful watch on the seemingly unconscious form of the Tyranid warrior strapped down on the platform next to him.

A few moments later more warriors entered, this time on foot, a few of them dragging extra bodies, including two wounded Eldar and several gaunts, half dead, but still twitching from the poisons flowing through their bleeding bodies. Another tremendous roar echoed hollowly through the swirling vortex, the magnitude of the sound stirring the energies supporting the webway portal and even the shifting walls of the tunnel itself. "Close it!" Shiroq shouted as she dashed through the portal a few yards ahead of the carnifex, the murky miasma of her shadow field rippling around her in response to a recent attack.

The Haemonculus waiting with their non-military transport and webway portal generator had the portal down the instant the Syren was through, leaving everyone to breath a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure we were going to make it, when that carnifex showed up." Hrien spoke, shuddering visibly at the memory as he pulled off his helm.

The two wounded warriors were left to rest against one wall of the tunnel as the rush of adrenaline gradually subsided in all of them.

A carnifex was the last thing Shiroq had expected to encounter in this small raid. They were massive creatures, which dominated battlefields. Living tanks, with armoured hides thicker than a Space Marine's power armour, and great talons capable of tearing the sturdiest of defenses apart with ease. Most eldar were no match for such a monster.

Shiroq's momentary panting shifted into an exhilarated chuckle, breaking the silence once more as she laughed out her glee. That had been incredibly thrilling, all her Warriors were impressed, she could tell, for Shiroq herself had held the carnifex at bay long enough for the others to make it through the portal with their captured enemies.

She'd never brushed so close to death before, and emerged unscathed. Her shadow field had done its job, slowing the kinetic force of the living tank's talons enough for her to dodge nimbly out of their way, and her own skill had done the rest. She hoped she'd have a chance to do something like that again.

No one spoke, until Shiroq had calmed her mirth, "Syren, you were inspiring." Hrien continued, "The Archon will hear of your deeds you can be certain." He nodded his head, an acknowledgement of respect for her skill. It didn't mean he was trustworthy, just that he now knew she was superior, if he had not before.

"That was delicious! Now I know why moth… why Archon Khirareq gets so **hot** after a challenging victory. It really is thrilling." She smiled at her minions, though they could not see it through her helmet, they could hear it in her voice. "Let's get back before we're tempted to resume the fight, shall we?" She teased, removing the still dripping Warrior head from her bladed spike and vaulting up onto the raider to check on her prize. She lashed the head to the deck next to its still breathing brother. "The Queen of War will be pleased."

They strapped the rest of their slaves onto the grav sled the Haemonculus rode on, along with a single pilot, as Hrien's foot squad mounted up behind their prisoners. They helped their wounded squad member onto one of the seats as well; no one realizing that one of the wounded was no longer with them. The sled was quite a bit larger than a Raider, and was used for transport around the Webway, with no real weapons or armor on its segmented form, except for the blades and scythes attached to the hull.

Shiroq gave the command to head back to the dark city, and the two skimmers sped quickly through the dilated tunnel into the misty darkness soon disappearing from sight.

No one had noticed, as they secured their prisoners, and departed towards Commorragh, the armoured arm reach seemingly out of the very wall of the tunnel and silently drag the unconscious warrior Relen, wounded by the chameleon skinned Lictor, out of sight into the shadows next to their portal.

Once the vehicles were gone another eldar stepped from his hiding place behind the shadowed wall. "An interesting find, we'll see what tales you have to tell my friend." The scarred Eldar whispered to no one in particular as his own minions emerged from the spatial fold in the tunnel's wall to help him carry their prisoner back to their lair.

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the second chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq) which I did not invent.


	3. Shadow Games

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 3: Shadow Games**

Chapter Summary: Back at the fortress, new conspiracies are hatched, and a new player enters the already convoluted game.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

He didn't really have a name anymore, and was generally called, runner, or messenger, or just simply slave, when he was spoken to directly at all. The warriors guarding various parts of this section of the tower were not kind to him. He avoided them when he could, but he had to ask questions periodically in order to locate the man he was to deliver his message to.

Finally a Sybarite took pity on him (though he had to question if pity was really the correct motive, as it seemed to be an alien concept to the Dark Eldar), and directed him to a training room within Vallus' personal sanctum.

He found the Dueling Lord, in a wide room bare of any furnishings except for a row of weapon racks along one wall. The room was lit by a series of glowing crystals set in a rough spiral pattern along the slightly domed ceiling. The light cast muted shadows across the floor, which seemed to dance with the Dracon's movements.

Vallus ignored the slave at first, concentrating on his Kata, a training routine resembling a dance. He spun across the floor with a double bladed glaive held lightly in both hands, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat as he eviscerated imaginary foes with the curved blades, his dark unbound hair flowing around him almost as effortlessly artistic as the graceful but deadly arcs of his glaive. The weapon was like a staff with single edged swords on either end; perfectly balanced to glide with his movements, or even spin in a whirlwind arc if he chose to throw it. It was also a heavy weapon, but the balance made it easy to swing and slash against his opponents while the weight of the blades added power to his blows.

He finished the last series of forms with a flurry of wild spins, slashing out at the air and landing directly in front of the startled runner with a final swing. His blade flashed in the slave's eyes and barely nicked his forehead, just enough to draw a trickle of blood that traced a path down the servant's nose. The wounded man trembled visibly, resisting the urge to flinch or cry out, knowing that it would only bring worse treatment from the sadistic Dracon.

Vallus pulled a rag from the sash at his waist and used it to clean a tiny crimson fleck from the tip of one blade. His breathing gradually calmed as he wiped the exhertion from his brow, taking in the salty metallic scent of their combined sweat and the slave's blood.

"You bring word from the High Archon." He observed calmly, "Speak slave, while you are still able." He added, turning a little away and smiling to himself as the gaunt messenger swallowed convulsively. His fear seemed palpable, like a scent on the air they breathed, and Vallus drank it in eagerly, his nearly black eyes sparkling, as he awaited the recitation of his Lord's instructions. He busied himself examining the flawless craftsmanship of his weapon as the man spoke.

"You, are summoned to a private council, the Queen of War has a mission for you and your warriors. One she says you will enjoy." The unfortunate creature in front of Vallus had once been Eldar, born amongst their kin, the Craftworlders, who disdained the emotional pleasures that were their race's birthright and instead suppressed their urges, following paths of serenity and impassive labor. Now that he was a slave to the True Kin, he was a beaten, and broken thing, hardly worthy to call himself anything, let alone Eldar.

"You may tell your Mistress that I will attend her." He replied impassively. Vallus briefly toyed with the idea of causing additional injury to the pathetic thing, but decided against it. The slave was not his, he was owned by Lord Archon Khirareq, and it wouldn't be courteous to damage his Lady's property. Turning away from the doorway through which the messenger had entered, he returned his glaive to the weapon rack, and picked up the padded tunic he'd removed before starting his exercises. He draped it casually over one shoulder.

His trio of incubi seemed to materialize from the shadows in the archway behind the startled slave. And Vallus turned to them with a thoughtful expression, masking the malicious grin threatening to spoil his countenance. "The Lady Khirareq has intrigued me." He informed one silent guardian. "I certainly would never decline any pleasures she may wish to bestow upon me."

His words elicited a flinch from the slave, the mention of pleasure reminded him of what the Dark Eldar were, which in turn reminded him of what he'd become, and all he'd once been and lost. Vallus took a degree of satisfaction in his torment and discomfort.

"What are you still doing here?" He added after a moment, turning back to the runner with a sneer. "Deliver my response to your mistress. If you're lucky she might beat you herself for your tardiness instead of turning you over to her Haemonculi."

"Yes, I'll tell her right away." He babbled quickly, bowing and turning to rush out of the room. With an amused cackle, Vallus exited as well, heading off to his bathing chambers to refresh himself before the meeting.

His bodyguard fell into step behind him as he walked out of the chamber and into the hallways of his sanctum, bringing yet another smile to Vallus' thin lips. They knew he preferred to deal with intruders himself, and only to intervene if he seemed overmatched, which happened with increasing infrequency. The slave had been no threat to the skilled duelist, but their presence was always comforting, and they'd saved him from at least one assassination attempt since he'd become a Dracon.

The only ones they would not protect him against were his superiors, so if Khirareq wanted him dead, he was on his own, which of course was why he was attempting to make himself invaluable to her. He hoped this talk of a mission he would enjoy might be a positive sign on his ambitious path to his own power.

Khirareq met her Dracon in her war room, the lights dimmed and the holo table turned off for now though the ozone scent on the air told Vallus that it had only recently been deactivated. She sat at her accustomed throne-like chair, one arm worn down slightly by her wraithbone hand stroking it over the countless hours she'd spent there, absently worrying the material with the unnaturally strong appendage. On either side of her, four of her incubi flanked her position, standing at attention with their punisher klaives held at the ready; eight bodyguards watching him impassively from behind their death masks.

He regarded his liege curiously, studying her demeanor. Was she pleased, or displeased? It was hard to tell. He'd learned over the years that she only really showed her true emotions under two circumstances. The first, was in battle, when the pain and fear of her enemies filled her soul like a drug eliciting moans of pleasure at the defeat of her enemies. The second was in dealing with her daughter, Syren Shiroq. So far, Vallus had discerned no way to use the latter to his advantage, so he concentrated on the former; he knew that if he supported her and if he won many victories in her name, Khirareq would reward him, especially if he used her own strategies and tactics with exceptional success.

"Your messenger, if he spoke true, said that you had some 'entertainment' planned for me, my lady?" He asked her, bowing with a flourish. It certainly would not hurt him to flatter the Archon, and might even prove advantageous to him.

"Indeed." Her armour creaked slightly as she shifted; leaning forwards a little closer to him, though still well out of reach. His Incubi at his back, normally comforting, were now slightly unnerving. They would aid Khirareq before him, and if he acted against her, they would cut him down before even her own guards could make it to him. And, if she acted against him, they would likewise serve her interests and aid his demise.

"Do you recall that battle you lost several months ago, on the planet the imperials call Sashek?" She asked after a brief moment. He winced, visibly; during the campaign he'd been assigned to assault an Imperial listening post and destroy it so Khirareq and her allies could infiltrate another part of the planet in search of an ancient Eldar spirit stone. He'd lost a fair number of troops and had been personally beaten by a champion of the Imperium's Grey Knights. The Grey Knights were an elite force even more specialized than the highly famed Space Marines of the Imperium of Man.

Normally, they only sought out and fought against the denizens of the warp, including all manner of mutated monstrosities born, quite literally, from nightmares. They called themselves daemon hunters, but on Sashek they had aided their Marine brethren against his assault.

His weapons and skills had proven inadequate to deal with such a creature, despite his age and experience. Khirareq had not been pleased, to say the least.

"I remember, my queen. Am I to assume that my past failing has something to do with your current designs?" He spoke carefully, hoping the reminder did not still displease her. He had worked hard to prove himself in the intervening months.

"I have located the hunters who were stationed on Sashek." She told him, getting right to the point. "They are garrisoned with an Inquisitor… here." She turned her chair and pointed at the same moment that the holofield above the table sprang to life, lighting up her arm and showing a glowing highlight near the point of one bladed finger.

He studied the starmap for a moment before nodding, "That is the system you sent Shiroq to." He observed. "A naval base?" He continued, referring to the glowing point orbiting one of the moons of the frozen planet.

"Correct. They are closely monitoring traffic throughout the system, and if I want to send fleets, or any large task forces in, they will need to be disrupted. And, since you have personal experience with some of the forces stationed there, I thought it might be a pleasant chance to redeem your mistake; assuming you're interested."

Vallus could only grin; they both knew full well he was interested. Even if he hadn't failed that mission, he would still desire to face such an opponent again; only this time, on his own terms. It excited him to envision the recognition in his foe's eyes as he extinguished the man's life, knowing that his fate had been set that day they'd first crossed blades.

It surprised him a little, to realize how well Khirareq had come to know him. He hadn't thought he was that transparent. But then, perhaps she was simply more observant than he'd given her credit for. Not much transpired in her citadel without her knowledge, after all.

"Shall I leave at once?" He queried, eager to be on the hunt now that he knew who his prey was, that familiar itch of anticipation at the impending slaughter traced a path down his spine beneath his armour, he could almost smell the battlefield already.

"Not yet, you will leave after Syren Shiroq returns with her report. Though, I don't imagine you'll have a long wait." She paused, and gestured subtly to her guardians, "Here is all the intelligence my sources have gathered on the battle station." One of her incubi stepped forwards and handed him a data crystal in one gauntleted hand, the lines of powered conduits humming almost audibly just beneath the surface of the glove. "Once you are fully prepared, send a messenger to inform me of your departure." She instructed, dismissing him by turning her back, swiveling in her chair to study the map more fully.

He didn't linger, bowing slightly and departing with his guards, his hand held tightly around the crystal for a moment before slipping it into a pocket at his belt. He would plan carefully, and not underestimate his opponent. He fully intended to review the information Khirareq had given him, then confirm it by sending out scouts of his own. Only then would he form his battle plan. The Inquisition was canny, and these grey knights would definitely require a special touch.

* * *

After capturing the injured raider Kelnar took his men swiftly through the webway back to their base of operations. He was a thin man, haggard in appearance, his face scarred both from injuries and experiments he'd performed on himself in days past. When they arrived through the secret entrance to the fortress he dragged their captive into his interrogation chamber and drugged him. He watched a moment to make sure the vile concoction was taking effect then instructed his warriors to strip him of his armour as he reported to their lord.

The throne room was dark, dampened by the ever-present shadows of mist, making the lone figure sitting upon a threadbare throne difficult to recognize at first. His stillness seemed unnatural, and the air smelled of death, and sickness. The whole facility was just as shabby as this chamber, but it had served them well as they served the lord of their fortress, Malfes.

Kelnar had never known anyone quite like the man on the throne; so frail yet so untouchable, powerful yet pitiful. Even though his color shifting eyes were closed Kelnar had no doubt that Malfes knew he was there, standing in the doorway, watching him, as he always did. He would acknowledge his presence when he was ready.

The long silvery hair on Malfes' head did not shift with his movements when he finally spoke, his hissing voice splitting the air and startling Kelnar partly because of Malfes' eerie stillness, even though he'd been expecting it. There was something wrong with Malfes' voice, but he'd never been able to quite place it. It almost seemed as if his voice echoed lingeringly, without echoing at all. "Kelnar, bring in the prisoner."

Kelnar didn't have to ask how he knew their raid had been successful. Malfes knew a great many things and the unguarded mind could hold no secrets from one such as him. He turned quickly, his mesh armour scraping against itself with his movements, and made an abrupt motion directing his second and the rest of his warriors to drag their 'prisoner' into the throne room.

As the weak dark eldar prisoner was brought in front of Malfes, Kelnar couldn't resist analyzing his condition. He was drugged, of course, but was otherwise in fairly good health. The tear in his side from some alien creature's talon had left him with a shallow wound, but nothing immediately life threatening. He'd been stripped of his armour as instructed, and his numb legs slid along the grime encrusted tile floor as the two warriors carried him between them.

The trauma he had endured would make him a rewarding torture subject; his mind was frail, but not yet broken. A master of the torture arts could make him break himself, with subtlety and patience. But Kelnar wasn't allowed to perform his craft on one such as this. Things were not now what they had once been. Kelnar was no longer a Haemonculus, he was a Dracon; servant to one greater than he himself had ever been. He was forced to restrain his impulses even as the thoughts of what he could do to this prisoner made him wet his cracked lips with anticipation.

The prisoner, who had yet to tell any of them his name, stared at Malfes' throne with a mix of defiance, disgust, and drug induced haze. "So, Relen, to what Kabal do you belong?" Malfes' question took the bound eldar by surprise, he would be asking himself if he'd somehow let his name slip, but doubting he had since he'd been conscious enough to remember, if drugged, most the time he'd been here, his blue eyes shifted nervously as if looking for an escape.

"I have no reason to tell you anything, filth." Relen spat, hunkering his shoulders down, his harsh breathing causing ripples to travel through the gaunt skin of his bared back.

"You see, that's where you're wrong." Malfes countered, leaning forwards slightly in his worn throne at last, his eyes flashing so fast Kelnar couldn't be sure what color they had been for that brief moment. He knew Malfes' eye color could be a good indication of his mood and he made a point of trying to read them. "You have every reason to tell me what I want to know. If you tell me, you will die, otherwise, I will gain the information from you anyways, but in the end you will have to live. I consider that a fair exchange." He smiled, in his twisted half sane manner, letting him ponder that backwards statement for a moment.

Relen was no fool, no matter how much the drugs were muddling his brain. He knew something was up, he was True Kin, and he knew his two 'options' were not quite what they seemed. "If I live, you will not let me go?" He asked, debating the many reasons why death could be preferable to living.

Malfes merely sat back, no readable expression on his face. "My Dracon, Kelnar, used to be a Haemonculus, and though he would not say so to my face, I know he yearns for an opportunity to practice his trade once more."

Nothing else needed to be said, Relen's eyes widened till the blacks were visible all around his irises at the mere thought of being turned over to a Haemonculus torturer, even one who was out of practice. He trembled visibly, lowered his eyes and said, "The Shak Thoth."

Malfes pale eyebrow rose, "An interesting perhaps presumptuous name. Who leads these Soul Hunters?" He asked, his voice growing softer now that Relen was cooperating. Kelnar felt that familiar itch along his spine that told him Malfes was exercising power. Power they could not see, but could certainly sense. For all Eldar were psychic; even though the True Kin did not develop their powers, for fear of the Great Enemy, not to mention each other. They could all drink in souls to restore their own, and could manipulate matter, particularly growing things, through the harmonics of their minds. To develop real psychic power was to invite death, in Commorragh.

But then, they were no longer living in Commorragh, or any other Dark Eldar city for that matter. This well worn and shabby base was in the morwhol, or 'darkways'. The murky rim of the webway, where the tunnels became thin, and entropic mist covered everything and corroded even the most resilient materials.

"High Archon Khirareq." Relen responded after a moment's hesitation. He apparently feared this Archon, almost as much as he feared the attentions of a Haemonculus. "She is known as the Queen of War, for her passion is warfare."

"She is very beautiful." Malfes commented, smiling ever so slightly with his thin lips. Relen regarded him for a moment before finally making the connection. "You are a Warlock!" He gasped out, trembling just a little more.

Malfes shook his head, a barely perceptible movement. "No, do not confuse me with those weak fools of our Craftworld Kin." He didn't like being compared to the Farseers and Warlocks of the Craftworld Eldar, Kelnar knew.

"But you are…" Relen began shakily, more confused now that he'd identified what Malfes was doing, if not what he was.

"No, and yes." Malfes replied, cutting him off before he'd even finished his questions. "Now you know how I would gain the information I seek if you decided not to cooperate." Relen nodded, he'd figured out Malfes was a psyker, but not precisely what sort of psyker. It was supposed to be impossible for any Eldar to safely practice such power without some form of protection. The Craftworld Eldar used sacred runes, and their spirit stones to protect them from the warp, but Malfes clearly had neither of these things.

"Then how…?" He tried again to voice the question Malfes had already read in his mind.

"You have no reason to know that, it is too complicated to be worth explaining to someone who will soon be dead." Malfes patience was well known throughout his secluded Enclave, and while Relen was in no danger of testing it, he was not aware of how much leeway he actually had. Thinking he had angered this powerful being, he began to sweat.

Malfes considered the situation for a long tense moment, the only sound the whispering sigh of the mists in the building around them, then he leaned forwards, his hands clasped together as he regarded his prisoner with undisguised attention, "Tell me everything you know of this Khirareq, she seems unorthodox enough for my purposes."

Kelnar knew Relen would tell his master every detail he could muster before the night was done…

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the third chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the grey knights in this and following chapters.


	4. The Nightmare Stalks the Light

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 4: The Nightmare Stalks the Light**

Chapter Summary: The complexity of the High Archon's plans begins to reveal itself, and another very different sort of battle is joined.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts, violence, and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

It was becoming apparent to Vallus that a great deal more was going on than he'd initially suspected, when he found himself on the docks amidst a torrent of bustling activity. All across the expanse between the sloped walls, as well as on tiered platforms along those same slopes, weapons and vehicles were being prepared for land combat, and none of them were assigned to be accompanying him on his strike craft. They were evidently meant for some other purpose, another battle for the high Archon.

Eldar combatants and their slaves scurried back and forth, carrying ammunition or other gear. Here and there he could see individuals who'd been knocked down, even trampled under hurried feet, and forgotten. It seemed that whatever was going on, there was a definite sense of urgency in those who actually knew what was about to happen. He himself was forced to weave his way in and out of spiked ammo crates, and other equipment strewn about, left wherever they were when they were not presently needed, though his five incubi made certain that he did not have to dodge actual traffic. No one wanted to come too close to the impassive death mask adorned body guards, as that was a good way to cut one's life short.

It was obvious that at least one of the other Dracons was being sent into battle soon, and his curiosity as to the target, and exact timing, briefly threatened to overwhelm him until he forced his attention back to the task at hand. His curiosity was nothing compared to the lust to engage this worthy foe ahead of him once more.

The "docks" was a huge hangar built into the side of the towering fortress of the Soul Hunters Kabal, it opened into the twilight atmosphere that was prevalent throughout all of Commorragh. From his vantage point he could see other black fortresses rising at odd angles from the huge curving webway tunnel which housed this part of the city; each one a bladed tower spearing the misty sky. Gravity was relevant in the Webway, as was time for that matter, and many of the towers looked sideways, or even upside down, depending on which surface of the tunnel walls held their foundations.

He walked across the expanse of the docks, watching the traffic both within and without the large opening in the side of the Kabal Fortress through which aerial and space faring craft buzzed back and forth between the various spires and alleys. He refocused his gaze forwards as he approached the ship he personally would be riding on, as its looming presence drew his attention. He was taking only a single ship for his mission, an unusual class of ship known as a Vampire Reaper.

Originally captured from a group of Eldar known as the Void Dragon Corsairs, it had been re-fitted with armament from the Soul Hunters' own factories once Vallus' crew had used up all the existing ammo. Craftworld pulse lasers and scatter lasers had been replaced with disruptor cannons and razor spinners built in the factories far below in the Kabal's fortress. The phoenix missile launchers had been left in place, however, with the ammunition replenished through deals with members of the corsairs who were unaware of the vessel's capture, or the use to which their weapons would be put.

The Ash Phoenix, as it had been re-named, was a large vessel and seemed almost out of place next to the smaller more elegant raiders and ravagers surrounding it. Even though it had been heavily modified, it was still a sleek craft with crescent wings gracefully curved inwards towards the prow, its smooth rounded hull showing no seams or breaks like the Dark Eldar so often use artistically on their own ships. In short, it still looked like a Craftworld vessel, favoring aerodynamics and armour over light construction and imposing visage.

It was still a heavy transport capable of carrying about 30 soldiers into battle, but many of the internal workings had been replaced as well as the outward armament and decorations. It now sported a sophisticated stealth field, which would make it virtually undetectable to most scanners, and even difficult to spot with the naked eye. Without the stealth field activated, the wicked barbs and scythes fixed along the hull would no doubt attract attention. Its appearance had in most ways been successfully enhanced to inspire dread in those unfortunate enough to see it, however only a complete overhaul would remove the touches of their Craftworld kin's artistic sensibilities from it.

Vallus was jarred from his musings when a flicker of movement caught his attention. He and his Incubi crouched down almost in unison as a barrage of glimmering splinters cut through the air towards them from behind a triangular crate of weapons. There was perhaps a dozen yards of partially cluttered stone flooring between him and the source of the gunfire. A group of warriors who no doubt had hoped to catch the dueling lord unawares, and usurp his position as dracon. With a sneer he dashed forwards, loping along in an easy gait his bodyguards could keep up with as they each activated the shock fields on their punisher klaives.

Vallus' lobbed a disruptor grenade behind the crate sending the enemy warriors in front of them diving deeper into cover to avoid being incinerated by the blast. This allowed him and his retinue to fall upon them with vicious precision.

As the explosion of blue fire dissipated the dracon and his five incubi leapt over the bladed crates into midst the warriors who ineffectively attempted to wield their splinter rifles defensively against a superior foe. One incubus was blasted at point blank range with a shredder, the monofilament wires and barbs scratching his armour but otherwise doing little damage before his punisher's blade decapitated the unfortunate kabalite wielding it.

Vallus' own glaive cut off a hand still clutching her rifle from a woman whose armour was already half shattered by the dark matter blast. Her scream echoed from behind her helmet for a brief moment before the crackling shock field of his double bladed sword cracked open her remaining armour allowing one razor sharp blade tip to pierce her heart.

He turned quickly to face another warrior whose helmet sported the image of a flaming maw curved around his face. He parried an attack from his opponent's short blade, taking a moment to size him up.

The blade he'd struck at him with was ornate, with notches near the tip which no doubt would inject powerfully lethal poison into any wound inflicted with the insidious device. He wouldn't give this upstart a chance to deal such a blow. He swung his dueling glaive in a blurring arc, spinning with the weapon to add extra force to his attack. His opponent tried to dodge, but Vallus had counted on that and stepped forwards during his spin to cut off his retreat. The poisoned blade was cut in half by the crackling sweep from Vallus' sword; the energized field breaking apart the metal like it was made of cheese. The volatile weapon discharged a spray of deadly poison in the warrior's own face, killing him almost instantly as he gasped, and breathed some portion of the lethal mist into his lungs.

In a matter of moments only two warriors were left standing, and none of Vallus' incubi were even injured. Some gouged and burned armour plates were the worst of the damage from this feeble assassination attempt. The Dueling Lord made a gesture, and his Incubi exerted their servo-enhanced strength to force the remaining assassins to their knees next to their shattered splinter rifles. He regarded them impassively as he considered how best to make an example of them. "Who sent you on this ill advised attack?" He asked while wiping a bit of blood from his cheek.

The two prisoners glanced at each other from behind their brooding helmets, before one of them pointed towards the man Vallus had killed with the poison from his own dagger. The dracon raised one black eyebrow as the pieces came together in his mind and then laughed out loud. Kicking the fallen kabalite over with one foot and examining his armour a bit closer. He noted the embellishments and the insignia of a squad leader on the breastplate, "A fool Sybarite to attack with so small a force." He found himself rather amused by the idea.

"We had allies, to catch you in a cross fire, but they clearly abandoned us." The warrior looked ashamed, unable to meet Vallus' gaze, glaring towards a group of warriors walking casually away from them near another pile of crates they might have used for cover.

"They were wise to do so." The dracon brushed his midnight hair into place behind his ears before turning back to his captives. "I will let the two of you live as an example to others, and a lesson against such folly. You will both accompany me on the Ash Phoenix, and after we return, whichever of you serves me best will be set free. The other, I will turn over to one of Master Threchul's Haemonculi." He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes glittering with amusement, "Shall we be going?"

The two of them exchanged glances once again, and Vallus could well imagine the expressions behind their helms, filled with equal parts horror and determination. They would both perform to their utmost ability to avoid the torturer's knife, either that, or one of them would kill the other to assure his place. Both were amusing thoughts, and the Dracon was hard pressed to decide which he liked better.

* * *

Brother Captain Perseon was a rigid man, who maintained rigid control of all things around him, and commanded with rigid discipline the staunch and rigidly loyal company of Grey Knights he had been entrusted with. Standing just under 2.4 meters tall, he was a rather imposing individual, with a deep voice which carried even in a whisper. He had a natural ability to inspire obedience, and men who heard his commands were usually quick to comply with his wishes.

At present, he was reviewing intelligence data gathered from various sources throughout the system. The forces of Chaos were at work on at least one of the local planets, he knew this as surely as he knew his own name. His forces, had been stationed here nearly twenty cycles, or a week as they said on some worlds, and the foul enemy was hiding, unwilling to show themselves. He'd been monitored traffic, and sensors, and any other information available to him for most of the duration since they'd arrived in their strike cruiser. Sitting alone in his room his posture rigid and straight even while relaxed, the light from his holocron etched deep shadows into his weathered face, exaggerating the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, one of the few signs of his advanced age.

When he wasn't monitoring information, he spent his time praying, various exercises which served to focus his mind, and open his soul to the will of the immortal emperor so that he might guide his sight in eliminating the concealing shadows of their enemies. He knew of the small Tyranid splinter fleet that had taken root on one of the system's planets. He even knew of the Eldar scout vessels, which had been sneaking about, collecting intelligence of their own for some purpose he neither knew, nor cared about. His only concern was the deamons who threatened the very souls of his people, and the filth who would ally with them, traitors who willingly turned their backs on their humanity.

He frowned; there was an irregularity in the sensor readings on the station's logs. "Servitor." He spoke softly, summoning the shambling form of the hideous amalgamation of man and machine. More than half the thing's body was replaced with cybernetic implants, and augmented with bionic arms, and digital memory storage. It was like a living computer, its brain hardwired to process data at an astounding rate.

"Analyze this." He continued, sliding his chair rigidly to one side to allow the creature, whose designation escaped him at present, to process the data stream from the sensors. It moved into place, servos whirring within its limbs as it focused its cybernetic eyes on the glowing lines of data streaming across the holocron.

::begin audio log:: It spoke in a slow monotone voice, completely expressionless, and without any intonation or accent beyond the mechanical grating of its voice processing unit.

::sensor readings may indicate a spatial disturbance approximately three gigameters from the station's orbit. energy release seems consistent with a small webway incursion, large enough for a heavy fighter class ship, but not a warp phenomenon::

The captain listened patiently, filtering the unnecessary information easily through long years of habit and training. His armoured fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, setting up a sharp staccato as counterpoint to the servitor's rhythmic words.

::analysis suggests an eldar ship has either entered or left the webway from this point, though particle trails may hint at the former, some sort of energy field was active with a trail leading…::

"That's enough." Perseon said, sighing. He honestly did not care what the Eldar were up to. If this data would not help him find the cult activity in the system, he would ignore it. "Back to your station, uh…" He paused; he just couldn't remember the servitor's "name".

::alpha – three one four:: It replied automatically, already moving back to the terminal it had been accessing before he'd summoned it. ::close audio log:: It hunched over its terminal, oblivious to all else around it as it resumed whatever task had been occupying it before Perseon interrupted it.

The captain stood, and stretched, powerful muscles rippling beneath his armour. The tedium was making him stiff, and he was still no closer to his goal than when he'd arrived. He decided he would pray some more, and perhaps get a workout in the process.

Two of his brothers standing outside his door in full tactical dreadnought armour bowed when he emerged from his private chambers. The mechanisms in their bulky suits hummed softly with their movements.

Even though they were taking advantage of the space station's facilities while docked here, they still worked and lived on their strike cruiser, the "Lance Glorificus". They did not mingle with the imperial navy, only their own inquisitorial servants who piloted the ship.

At that moment, their resident inquisitor came through the outer door seeking Perseon with a rather irritated expression. He'd been spending time out there somewhere, on the station, gathering information in his own way, no doubt intimidating the troopers stationed there alongside them and rooting out every pseudo-sin among the populace and assigning something he considered "proper penance".

His methods would find their quarry only if someone here was tainted, or knew something about the cult still festering on one of the nearby planets. "Blast it, I'm beginning to think these people don't know anything of any real value, except how to conduct unending drills." He complained noisily.

"You are vexed, Inquisitor Markus, I take it your search is not going well?" Syrus was one of Perseon's oldest friends, and one of his finest marines. There weren't many in their battle company who'd earned the honor of wearing the ancient and sacred terminator armour inscribed with blessed runes, and adorned with holy scripture, and Brother Syrus had earned that honor at least ten-fold in service to their chapter, and their goals.

"20 Cycles is too long to sit idle, they told us the daemons were here. Are you certain your augers couldn't have been wrong, just this once?" The inquisitor's frustration was growing with every passing cycle. But Perseon would not allow himself to be goaded into sharing the man's irritation. He knew this was simply his way of venting steam, but having lived a few normal human lifetimes already; the captain rarely felt anything approaching impatience anymore.

"Impatience is a weapon of the enemy, my friend." He replied warmly. "We must hold steady in our faith, and our prayers. The emperor will reveal all in due time." He patted one armoured hand on the inquisitor's shoulder, drawing a wince from the younger man as the heavy ceramite gauntlet pressed against him through the thin cloth of his 'civilian clothes'. He then continued out of his chambers to find some food, and walk among the rest of his brothers.

"Feth, doesn't _anything_ faze him?" Markus asked, raising his eyes heavenward. The only response he received was a soft chuckle from deep within Brother Syrus' helm.

* * *

Markus took some time to collect himself before going back onto the station once more, a guard of ten inquisitorial stormtroopers departed with him, but maintained their distance, enjoying the nearby canteen while the Inquisitor conversed with various staff and soldiers stationed here. Most would talk with him more openly if he did not have a crowd of imposing elite troops glaring at them over his shoulder.

He was only just getting started when a commotion erupted. A wounded soldier came running into the wide central corridor gasping for breath, his entire stance radiating desperation, through the open portal behind him the inquisitor could see flickering lights, as if the power had been disrupted down the passage he'd emerged from, before the automatic door closed behind him. "Aliens! On the station!" He cried breathlessly, his voice choked with pain as he collapsed, satisfied that he'd sounded a warning and unable to continue with his serious injuries.

Markus moved to his side immediately, as his retinue closed around him, keeping others away so he could question the enlisted man. "Tell me what happened." He urged, applying pressure to where the blood seemed to be seeping through his flak armour, knowing that he would need professional medical attention soon, but aiding as well as he could while he debriefed him for any vital information he could share while still conscious.

The soldier took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart enough to give a coherent report. "They ambushed us, in the corridor. The light was out, and we never saw them coming. My patrol, was cut down in seconds, I ran to find help, Argus had our vox, and he was the first to fall, he was… screaming… I think they were _eating_ him!"

The words seemed to take a lot out of him, but Markus needed more, "Who were they, did you see any of them?" He prodded, glancing up to see medics already rushing towards them, having been alerted by other navy soldiers. His retinue would keep them away until he was finished.

"They were… like something out of a nightmare!" He gasped, coughing up blood as he shuddered visibly. "Red glowing eyes, the rest was shadows."

Markus pulled back, cleaning his bloodstained hands on his sash as he allowed the medics to approach and start tending to the navy man. "Vox, contact Brother Captain Perseon, tell him the enemy may have come to us." His vox operator quickly acknowledged the request, opening a line of communication back to the strike cruiser.

After a brief exchange of words the storm trooper turned back to his commander, "The Brother Captain says that there are no daemons on the station, it is likely Eldar that attacks."

"Then we will meet them, and drive them from this place with the emperor's wrath." He barked back, drawing his bolt pistol from its hidden holster beneath his sash.

The vox operator communicated with the Grey Knight again for a moment before responding, "The Brother Captain says you may fight if you wish, but the Grey Knights are here for daemons, not xenos."

"He says what?" Markus grabbed the vox speaker angrily from the storm trooper's hand. The well-trained soldier relinquished the device quickly and stood at attention to one side while his commanding officer had a few words with the ranking grey knight, "Perseon, do you mean to tell me you will not defend imperial citizens from this threat?"

"That is what I said." Came the calm collected reply through the vox. "That is not our mission. These men are trained to defend this place, let them do their duty to the emperor, and let me do mine." Perseon's voice was infuriatingly calm; soft, and matter of fact, brooking no argument. It was clear he had made up his mind, and would not be dissuaded.

Markus wanted to argue with him, but knew it would serve no purpose, tossing the vox device back to his storm trooper with a growl of disgust. "I do not understand that man." He murmured, before adding, "Call on reinforcements, a full platoon from the Lance Glorificus, we will fight alongside these men, and remind them what it means to serve their emperor.

He had one of his inquisitorial henchmen from back on the ship bring his armour as they joined him for the upcoming search and fight. In the mean time he organized the nearest men of the Imperial Navy into a search squad. So far no other reports or alarms had come to their attention concerning of the enemy's movements, but they would root them out, and show them the folly of assaulting a stronghold of the Imperium.

"Inquisitor Markus." He turned to see Admiral Rickard, the highest local authority on the station, coming his way. He was wearing his own armour, and was surrounded by his own men fresh from the armoury with navy issue shotguns. "I understand you spoke to the wounded soldier before he passed out?" He wanted information, apparently feeling like he did not yet fully understand what was going on. In his position, Markus would have wanted greater clarification as well.

"That is correct. It appears his patrol was ambushed in the corridors of the station, I am preparing to lead an extermination team to seek them out and purge the aliens responsible." He informed him, "If you require more information you may ask my aides, I have xenos to hunt." As an inquisitor he technically outranked the admiral, and he was impatient to begin. The man did not have the authority to detain him for more information, much to his frustration. Finally they would have a break from all this waiting.

* * *

Perseon was purifying his nemesis force weapon in mock combat against his brother grey knight when servitor A-314 entered and interrupted them. ::brother captain perseon, mandate four thousand six hundred twenty two requires one to inform the issuer of analysis directives if continuation of set task is impossible. at oh-six fifty data feeds from all sensor equipment and communication devices aboard the station ceased, ship logs and sensors indicate an explosion in the station's com rooms, through which said feeds are routed, in order to resume…::

"That is enough, alpha – three one four. You may attend other tasks until such time as the data feeds are repaired." He told the servitor, bowing to Brother Tarrel before praying over his weapon to finish their purification ritual. The exercise was part prayer, part military drill, and served to calm their minds, keep their skills sharp, and purify their holy weapons all at the same time. It was an efficient practice, to be sure, one that very frequently filled the grey knights' time between missions.

"This is an unexpected setback. Should we join the fight against these xenos who would impede our mission?" Tarrel asked having performed the same prayer and ceremony over his own spear.

"That will be unnecessary. We do not _need_ the station's sensors to find our quarry. Our greatest tool is our faith, and our own minds. I will call a circle, my retinue and I will meditate on this, and hopefully divine our course." The younger grey knight bowed, his powered armour whirring beneath the heavy ceramite plates before he retreated from the room.

In his terminator armour Perseon stood significantly taller than Tarrel in his artificer armour, with increased protection in the form of bulkier plating, and increased strength and stability from the powerful stabilizers in his tactical suit. Both armour designs had built in vox beads, and he activated his with a thought, contacting the five members of his terminator honor guard. "First Company Terminators, Assemble in…"

The power went out in his section of the ship, plunging him into darkness and blinding him for a brief instant before his helmet activated dark sensors, showing him the layout and outline of the room like a hologram, and highlighting movement up above him. The ventilation duct was open, and a lean figure crouched there, like a predator ready to pounce. "Prayer room four." He finished quietly, passing his thumb over the activation rune on his nemesis force weapon. An energy field enveloped the blade of his spear as he took a few steps back, wishing he'd had his storm bolter at hand so that he could fire at this intruder to his personal domain while he was out of reach of his spear.

"We meet again." The figure hissed, speaking accented gothic. From its voice and the resonance of its mind Perseon knew it/he was Eldar, and there was something familiar about this apparition beyond its greeting. His tactical display showed a rising glow as the creature activated power fields on the twin blades of his own weapon.

"If you escaped with your life when last we met, it was truly folly to seek me out again, only death will be your reward. I will send you to whatever heathen gods you worship, Eldar." His speech was calm, collected. He was not worried, this was an unusual situation, and his opponent had caught him somewhat off guard, but this alien had already missed the opportunity to take advantage of that surprise.

The eldar dropped gracefully the six meters between the air duct and the floor, landing in a low crouch with its exotic weapon held by the shaft in the middle, out to one side. The artificial display from his helmet visor showed what appeared to be glowing slits in the eyes of this alien's helmet, which no doubt relayed similar information to its wearer about him. His armour was light, no match for Perseon's psychic powered spear, but the assassin's own weapon looked like it would not be hindered that much by the captain's tactical dreadnought armour, which would slow him down some, but also amplify his movements, and his strength, perhaps giving him an edge against an obviously agile foe.

His opponent dashed forwards as Perseon fell into a defensive stance, leaping through the air as he raised his spear to parry the first blow. Sparks flew from the crackling energy fields of their blades, temporarily lighting the room as he turned to catch the second blade of the eldritch weapon, blocking it with practiced ease before shoving outward.

He'd hoped to set the eldar off balance, but his opponent simply flipped through the air as if expecting just that. Landing lightly on its feet and sprinting forwards once again. In this second exchange he swung out, utilizing the superior reach of his weapon to slash at the assassin. He felt some sort of resistance, slowing the attack as the creature ducked below the shaft of his weapon, twisting upside down and lashing out. The twilight blade screamed as it rang against the active force field projected from Perseon's terminator armour, and he used that opportunity to redirect his attack, gripping the force weapon with both hands and driving it down.

The eldar rolled and twisted away, rebounding off one hand and digging a gouge in the floor with one of the weapon's twin blades as it regained its footing. "You use the same attacks you did the last time." That twisted voice snarled.

Perseon frowned, suddenly determined to remember where they must have met before today. This alien had apparently sought him out, yet Perseon would not have given such an encounter a second thought. His mission was to eradicate daemons, and unless they got in the way, he generally ignored mundane warriors. "The Ephemerus campaign, with the Ghost Ravens." He said, recalling an incident where he'd been hunting daemons alongside space marines from another chapter, and had defended a listening post against eldar pirates in the sector. It was hardly an encounter he was inclined to think about past its conclusion.

The fiend merely chuckled, circling at a brisk trot before closing the distance between them once more. Perseon could see how his opponent was using their difference in speed to advantage. This creature had already tasted his combat style before, and thought it knew what to expect. The brother captain parried a few more attacks and met his opponent furiously with every exchange, sparks lighting up the room with increasing frequency as the energy fields on their blades impacted with each other or his force field.

He was starting to recognize the patterns of the eldar's own energy field, which seemed to sap the inertia out of any attack which he made against the lightly armoured foe. This duelist skirted the edge of safety twisting around his blade in order to launch attacks a more cautious warrior would never have had the opportunity for. Perseon waited, and watched, looking for that fatal opening which would grant him the victory, hoping to defeat this fool before his retinue arrived to assist him.

He saw it, the eldar's booted foot slid on a patch of half melted flooring where its own double bladed glaive had scorched the plate only moments before. This set the fiend off balance just long enough for Perseon to lunge forwards, stabbing his powered spear straight at the unfortunate xenos' heart. Pain lanced through his side and up into two of his three lungs drawing a gasp from his lips as the energy field around his enemy's weapon scorched him from the inside. The Eldar had dodged, easily, and slipped his blade inside his guard in that instant, thrusting it up under his breastplate through one of the few gaps in his significant defenses. It took the captain an agonizing moment to realize the assassin's 'slip up' had been faked, and he'd fallen for the feint.

The laughing warrior drew back swiftly before the grey knight could retaliate, feeling the pain numb somewhat as his armour injected powerful painkillers into his body. His breathing was ragged, but he was not dead yet. His blood would clot quickly, even with such a serious wound that would have felled a lesser mortal. But Perseon was not mortal, he was Astartes, of the Grey Knight chapter, the elite of the elite, and it would take a great deal more than that to defeat him.

"You have been planning this for some time." He guessed, backing up and stalling a little, realizing that he might require the aid of his retinue after all. "I underestimated you, but I shall not do so again."

"No, you shan't." the villain repeated, mockingly. There was a flash of blinding light and a crackling explosion of electricity and magnetic energy that rocked Perseon back on his heels, his tactical display was flashing warnings, and blaring alarms to notify him of failed systems in his armour. He couldn't see, and swung out with his nemesis force weapon hoping to keep the eldar at bay long enough for him to wrench his blinded helmet off.

Without the sensors feeding information to him his eyes were forced to adjust to the almost pitch darkness. He could hear the oily whisper of his opponent's energy field, and barely sense the shadow of movement to one side of him, turning and swinging out with his blade, allowing the energy glowing off his spear to illuminate his foe. In the darkness, the shimmering light from his own armour, which would normally offer protection against enemy ranged fire by disorienting his foes at a distance, almost hindered his own sight, deepening the shadows beyond a few feet until he concentrated, and allowed the glow to fade almost completely.

Once he saw the fiend clearly for an instant he was able to get a lock on its mind, tracking the assassin's position psionically by sensing out the 'scent' of its barely perceptible thoughts. "The light of the emperor will cleanse you in fire, hiding in the shadows will not save you."

"I do not fear your god-corpse." Came the acid retort, "No matter how much of his power remains, it cannot save you." It came forwards once more, the faint glimmer of its twin-bladed glaive aiding Perseon in tracking its movements as he interposed his spear vertically once more against his enemy's weapon. Sparks flew, and the eldar pushed upwards, kicking off of Perseon's own armour to gain altitude, and flipping over his head.

He swung after the assassin, but quickly hit the limit of his armour's mobility arc. His arms could not raise any higher, and with his emperor's name on his lips he felt a brief instant of pain as one curved blade slid effortlessly through where his helmet should have been and into his neck severing both his spinal cord and carotid artery, and killing him almost instantly.

* * *

Vallus, landed on his feet once more, and smiled triumphantly as two resounding crashes echoed through the room. The first was the grey knight falling to his knees, and the second was his rigid upper half hitting the floor, his heavy armour impacting and denting the plating slightly.

He paused taking a moment to collect himself, activating a mental trigger that flushed his system free of the effects of his combat drugs. It had been a very tense, nervous battle. Vallus knew that his opponent's force weapon could kill with even the slightest wound. Not like the poisoned blades of his would-be assassin. The grey knight's weapon was a conduit for psychic energy, so with any wound he could channel his power through the blade and into his victim, frying their mind in an instant.

It would take a trained psyker to resist it, and while Vallus knew enough to defend against random scrying, and covert thought readings, he wasn't a match for the daemon hunter's mind. Vallus had had to work very hard not to slip up, and while his footwork may have seemed reckless to the terminator captain, his intense concentration and control had actually caused his back to ache from tension.

Once he was more relaxed he took in a deep breath, calling his defeated enemy's soul into the gaping void of his own alongside the air called to his lungs. For a moment, nothing happened then with a cry he flinched feeling the psychic backlash of something very old and very powerful berate his mind. He brought a hand to his forehead as an ache grew behinds his eyes. "Well now." He muttered to the armoured corpse at his feet. "Perhaps I was wrong about your dead emperor not saving you." He added with an amused chuckle.

"Very well, whatever entity chooses to protect this wretch, keep your servant's soul, I will find another." He made a mocking bow, and turned just as the door opened and two more terminators rushed into the room.

"**Captain Perseon?**" the first human screamed in outrage, charging alongside his brother as they both activated their powered spear weapons.

Vallus lobbed his second haywire grenade at them, though without attaching it directly to their armour as he had against their captain, it would have a reduced effect. Rather than completely scrambling their sensor systems it would merely stun them briefly, long enough for him to grab the Captain's terminator helm and escape through another door.

His mission was complete, his men had destroyed the sensor systems both on this cruiser, and on the space station, and Khirareq would be free to move her forces about the system for a time unseen. He'd also destroyed his target; one of the few Mon Keigh who had ever faced him on a battlefield and lived, once.

The alarm had been raised, and the forces on the cruiser would be hunting him, but it was a simple matter to escape back to the tiny webway portal he and his men had used to enter the cruiser. From there it was a brief jaunt back to his fighter, where he rejoined his incubi and took stock of his surviving forces.

Only one of his captured would be assassins had survived the battle, and of the rest of his servants, one was missing, and three were seriously wounded. His mandrakes had survived almost completely unscathed, though from the looks of things they'd been the ones responsible for blowing their cover. The warp mutants could be extremely stealthy, when they wanted to, their very skins seemed to be grown from living shadows, but they had a weakness for causing terror, and feasting on the flesh of their victims at inopportune moments, and these wore satiated expressions on their enshadowed faces..

It was unimportant, however, seeing as they'd been successful, and with a minimum of casualties to boot. It had almost been too easy; with barely 30 warriors he'd incapacitated an entire space station and an inquisitorial strike cruiser.

The stealth fields on the Ash Phoenix continued to hide them as they pulled away from the station and retreated at a leisurely pace back towards the larger webway opening they'd used to get here, all the while listening to the vox chatter of a blind and panicked imperial station. The sound was very soothing to their ears.

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the fourth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq) which I did not invent.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the grey knights in this and other chapters.


	5. The Calm

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 5: The Calm**

Chapter Summary: Khirareq's next battle plan is revealed, as preparations are made, and yet more new mysterious faces arrive unannounced.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

Shiroq's first order of business after returning to the fortress with her captive Tyranids was to secure the specimens. She took her own prizes (mostly the dog-like gaunts) to the private arena where she trained her wyches, and then handed the larger warrior over to one of Threchul's Haemonculi for whatever studies and experiments the Lady Khirareq had planned for the requested synapse creature.

She wanted to refresh herself after an exhilarating battle, perhaps with a shower, and some special wine which would help cleanse the last of the combat drugs out of her system, but she knew she had to make her report first. She contented herself with rinsing her face and securing her long dark hair back into a tail before seeking out one of her mother's messengers. The slave sported a fresh wound on his forehead. It was razor thin, barely a nick, and she wondered briefly if one of the guards had decided to torment him.

"Tell the Archon that the Daughter of Victory has returned victorious." She told the trembling slave dismissively, turning on her heel and proceeding towards her mother's war room, since that was the place she most frequently held audience. The runner retreated down a side corridor, bowing as he backed up, then spun and sprinted away once she was out of sight. His fear brought a brief smile to her lips, but she put him from her mind as she approached the long hallway in the upper levels of the fortress tower that led to the war room.

This hallway had very little cover, except the shallow alcoves where she knew incubi or mandrakes could so easily hide. It always sent a little thrill down her spine approaching this place, knowing that there was nothing she could do to defend against an ambush. On the other hand, the security was very tight here, and that meant if she had to retreat to this place during a siege, it would be that much more difficult for an enemy to make it down the corridor alive.

Two Incubi flanked the heavy double doors with their elaborate murals, a sign that the Archon was either already inside the chamber, or at least wished people to think she was. "Syren Shiroq to see the Archon." She spoke once she had closed the distance, but left enough room that she was out of immediate reach of the guardians' klaives.

They did not speak, as she stood before them with one hand on her hip, but merely gestured, and the doors behind them opened on their hidden motors as they motioned her through. Shiroq strode into the room, where her mother sat across from her Hierarch at the near side of the holotable.

Hierarch Zul was a mysterious entity, whose ice blue eyes found and followed Shiroq's movements as she approached. There was not much that could give a hardened warrior like Shiroq the chills, but his cold stare, laying her soul bare before him, was one of them.

He was practically an albino, with pale winter eyes, and silver hair, his skin lighter than any other Eldar she'd ever seen. His nails were kept long, hardened with an artificial lacing of minerals into claws. She'd never seen him in armour, as he preferred loose comfortable robes, but she'd seen him move once to protect the Archon from an assassin, and she knew even now she could not match his speed. He possessed that quiet grace of a man who did not overexert himself, yet was still prepared at any given moment to spring into action.

With skills like his, he would not need armour, off the battlefield at least. The worst part of it all was that she did not know even a portion of the man's full abilities. She'd never seen him train, or watched him in a protracted duel. She knew nothing of his past, or the origins of his expertise. He was not a wych, she knew that much. She would have recognized the gladiator style in him those few times she'd seen him kill.

He was a mystery, and that, even more than his chill gaze, set her on edge. The duty of a Hierarch was to ferret out plots against his master, and stand as a last line of defense as well. The Hierarch's duty usually only ended in their death, at the hands of an attempted usurper. Everyone knew that one would most likely have to kill the Hierarch first in order to even have a chance against his or her Archon. But Zul had served Khirareq for an uncommon century already; since Shiroq had been so young she could not even remember who his predecessor had been.

"Lady Khirareq." Shiroq bowed to her mother, kneeling on the floor and lowering her gaze. It was the ultimate sign of submission, as was traditional among the True Kin, but it also hid one's face, and one's secrets, which was an important part of the tradition as well.

"I had not yet heard you were returned." Khirareq told her, leaning against the high back of her chair and looking down at her daughter. Shiroq had evidently found her before the injured messenger, "How fared your hunt?" her demeanor was relaxed, seemingly unconcerned to have Shiroq so close, even while her nearest incubus was more than three paces away. Was she so confident in Zul's skills and loyalty?

No, she was confident in her own skills, and most likely knew that Shiroq had no intention of usurping her mother, now or ever. She wanted to rule a Cult, not a Kabal; to be a champion among champions in the arena, perhaps even more famous than Lelith of the Cult of Strife. Such dreams were a ways off yet, but she was confident she would reach them someday.

"You may rise, Shiroq." Khirareq continued, as the Syren rose graciously to her feet, and moved around the seated pair to take her own seat, adopting a pose almost identical to her mother's with one leg crossed over the other.

"The battle went smoothly, everything was as you planned." She reported, keeping her grin modest, "We captured the synapse creature you wanted, and brought back a few other captives as well."

Khirareq smiled, a bare tilt to the corners of her lips, "You did very well. I would hear your report in delicious detail, but first, I have something of which we must speak."

"What is your wish, Archon?" Shiroq was curious, wondering if this had something to do with the activity throughout the fortress. She'd thought briefly about that when she'd come in on her raider, noting what seemed like battle preparations, as warriors moved purposefully, gathering equipment and armour.

"What do you know about the Kabal of the Midnight Reapers?" Her mother asked smoothly. She regarded her over her bridged hands, her fingers interlaced just below her chin.

"I know that they have been of interest to you for some time." The Syren explained, glad that the question had not taken her off guard. Her own sources had told her Khirareq had sent spies and messengers to the Reapers' fortress in recent months.

"I know that they are allied with the Death Watchers Coven, and generally patron the Cult of Despair. I know that they recently broke ties with the Eyries, and it is rumored they have in some way displeased the Incubus Sect that supports them."

The Archon nodded, gracing her with a smile of her own. "It was the Eyries who broke ties with them, and their bonds with their other allies have been delicately weakened by my spies as well." She informed her daughter, "I had hoped we might be able to alienate them further, but the time for that is now past. I do not know what they did to force the Sects to withdraw their support, but we cannot wait for them to make reparations with the incubi. The time to strike is now."

Shiroq listened carefully; worrying one side of her lower lip between her teeth then arched one eyebrow and brought up a concern that she'd thought of as her mother spoke. "We have not yet had much time to enjoy our spoils from our last battles." She began, "And many of us have fought in small skirmishes recently, is it wise to send your warriors and my wyches into battle again so soon?"

"It cannot be helped, and I have every confidence in you, Shiroq." She replied quickly, shifting her weight to lean forwards a bit more, "I have a specific assignment for you, one which should prove challenging, but not overburdening, even if you are feeling somewhat tired." Shiroq resisted the impulse to assure her mother that she was not overtired, despite her earlier concerns. She did not wish the Archon to believe her endurance was less than satisfactory for her needs.

She paused a moment, as her Hierarch handed Khirareq a data crystal without so much as a glance from her in his direction. She held the crystal between two bladed fingers between them above the holo-table. "This will give you the details, but in short, I'm sending you and your wyches to attack the Death Watchers. Within their fortress, they have several factories, which produce fighting craft and torture machines for them and the Reapers; including a heavy skimmer that I desire to study, and utilize for my own. You must secure this factory, above all else, after you subdue the Haemonculi and their pets, of course."

Shiroq thought about it, tapping one finger against her chin and calculating what she knew of the Death Watchers, which admittedly was not as much as she might have liked, though she was sure there was ample information on that crystal. She was fresh out of battle, but she knew she had some stamina for a bit more, especially if there was some time to rest and prepare. "Will I be leaving right away, or is my assault to wait a little longer?"

"Preparations for the main assault are still underway. We will be launching an attack against the Reapers shortly after their Cult, but we do not expect the Coven to respond immediately, and we want you to strike just as they're readying themselves to counter our assault. You have a few meta-pulses at least to peruse that information, and decide your battle plan."

"Then I am ready and willing for this task, my lady." She took the crystal from the older warrior's artificial hand, the detail on the crystalline wraithbone as vivid today as it had been so many years ago before Shiroq had been born, when the Archon, then a Dracon, had first acquired it to replace her real hand. She caught herself staring for a moment, before letting her face slip into a grin, standing and giving a slight bow, almost a mockery of the more elegant formal bow that would be expected if they were observed by the Dracon Court. "You will not be disappointed in me." She intoned, before departing past them, and out the gilt doors.

Khirareq waited until her soft footfalls faded from her acute hearing, the doors remaining open as she stretched languidly in her chair. "Do you think she will be proven correct?" She asked her Hierarch once she was comfortable once more.

Zul gave his master a sly smile before responding, "Your daughter," the Archon gave him an annoyed look at his so casual usage of the familial attachment. A look that he easily ignored, no mean feat in itself, "is not alien to duplicity and ambition, my lady. But I doubt her ambitions include harm to you or yours. She wants power, but not from you. All she _does_ seek from you is recognition. She admires you, and rightly fears you."

"Yet she does not wish to become me." Khirareq mused to herself as much as to Zul. "She walks a different path, almost because of me, though I certainly never encouraged that."

"Very true, lord." The Hierarch continued. "She wants to make her own name, and earn her own recognition, without following in your footsteps. This is why I do not believe she is dangerous, to your ambitions at least. I will of course continue to watch her; after all, no one in Commorragh can truly be trusted outside of the Incubi Sects, and you know I suspect even them." He shared a chuckle with the lady, as this was a long-standing joke between them. "But in all honesty, I would be very surprised, and probably dead, if any treachery came to you through her, before your Dracons."

* * *

Dracon Gnarsyl, known to many as "the Devious One", or "the Great Widower", was being attentive, and cautious. Through an information feed on the silver coronet he wore Gnarsyl had listened to the report of Syren Shiroq's arrival, but he didn't pay it much attention.

Shiroq had returned through the lower bays a little before Gnarsyl himself had emerged into the hangars in the upper levels in time to see Vallus' personal hunting ship, the Ash Phoenix, leave through the large doors out into the twilight atmosphere of Commorragh. The basement entrances were largely storage warehouses, with more secure, but less spacious security doors, and not nearly enough room for all the logistics going on above in the main docks.

Gnarsyl was ahead of schedule having chosen to come here a little early, giving him an opportunity to oversee some of his Lord Khirareq's preparations. Lethis, Khirareq's only female Dracon, arrived shortly after him, and busied herself readying the first of her raiders to depart. She would be riding with her first convoy, followed by other forces in small groups to keep from attracting attention.

Lethis was almost as appealing physically as the Lady Khirareq, or her daughter Shiroq for that matter. And Gnarsyl rarely gave up the opportunity to admire a shapely female when they did not know they were observed. Unfortunately, while she did take a little time to instruct her troops and adjust her armour, Lethis departed quickly, her focus entirely on the business at hand. He sighed when he found himself without that distraction, and had to turn his attention back to other things.

The logistics plan had Lethis' convoys leaving first, one at a time, followed by Gnarsyl's initial forces, which would be deploying close to the Midnight Reaper's Kabal fortress, rather than the Arena fortress of the Cult of Despair where Lethis was heading.

As his own army was heading out, Master Haemonculus Threchul would leave to join Lethis, with orders to assist her in the assault against the Wych stronghold. Khirareq would be arriving eventually to join Gnarsyl at the Reapers' keep for the main battle, but there was time yet before any of the fighting began.

Overseeing the preparation and departure, of first Lethis' forces, then Threchul's and his own, was not a demanding task, and one he felt his mere presence encouraged. So he relaxed, leaning his elbows on the railing along one side of his raider, and simply let the workers work, with the knowledge that they were being watched to keep them working hard.

It wasn't until a little over a meta-pulse later, as some of the sensors in the fortress picked up Khirareq, her full retinue, and her Hierarch approaching the docks, that he took action. Quickly he made himself look busy, ordering startled slaves about with a gusto he didn't really feel. He directed his personal servants to disperse, and look busy as well, so when Khirareq marched through the open loading doors, flanked on all sides by her bodyguards, and her billowing cloak, she would see him performing above and beyond his duties, making certain all preparations for her assault were performed to perfection.

"My Lord Archon, it is nearly time." He intoned with an elaborate bow as she approached where he was standing on the deck of a raider hovering a few reaches above the floor.

"Come down, Dracon." The Archon said after a moment, "I have no desire to look up at you." She added, looking slightly bemused. She wore her full combat armour, with her punisher klaive slung across her back beneath her cape, and her tormentor helm tucked under one arm. Her armour was a lighter shade than her Incubi wore, but with her weapons of choice she could almost be one of them, if not for her Kabal colors clashing with the black suited Incubi with their white skull-masked headgear.

The Incubi Sects wore their own colors, and marked their loyalty to their Kabal masters by painting their sigils on whichever part of their sophisticated armour the Archon chose for such heraldry.

In the Soul Hunter's case, it was a lavender diagonal slash with a starburst behind it, on a black background, usually on the pauldrons or the sides of one's helmet. Her retinue wore her symbol on the former, except for the Incubi Master, who had a larger version of the emblem painted onto the back of his deep blue cloak, which was his mark of rank.

Gnarsyl's raider pilot lowered the craft back to the dock floors without having to be told, and the Dracon stepped off, bowing once more to his Lord. "I apologize, I did not mean to presume, or offend." He said quickly, though Khirareq's dismissive gesture assured him she was not overly upset.

"It looks as if we will be ready to leave within a few terr-pulses. Have the first convoys departed yet?" The Archon took in all the activity on the docks at a glance. Her gaze swept the vast space before resting on her lieutenant once more.

"Of course, your advance troops are already taking up positions near the Reapers' fortress, and are merely awaiting us to join them." Gnarsyl was pleased to be able to deliver good news to his superior.

Khirareq's next words took a moment to sink in, "Then you should be with them. I believe I had asked you to ride with the first convoy, to oversee their deployment as I'd instructed." Her words were cold as ice, sending a chill through a few nearby warriors who overheard her, and after Gnarsyl caught the full meaning behind her words, he gulped, drawing in a quick intake of air as the room around them suddenly stilled, and grew deathly quiet.

The Dracon was about to stammer out an apologetic reply when Hierarch Zul interjected, "Lady Archon!" There was a strange tenor to his voice, a nervous uncertainty neither of the Kabal Lords had ever heard from him before. It made Khirareq and her lieutenant pause, glancing at the pale eldar, and then following his gaze across the room.

It was far too quiet, all activity had stopped as everyone, slave and warrior alike, noticed something out of place. In the middle of the docking hangar, standing in a perfect line, were 20 figures, each completely immobile, posed in dramatic display, some bowing, others appearing to have frozen mid dance. They were encased in armour so fine, it had the appearance of cloth, dyed and painted in bright gaudy colors which only made them stand out more among the grim Kabal colors of the Soul Hunter's warriors and vehicles.

Khirareq could almost believe they were statues, yet she knew they were not. It had been a long time since she'd seen a Harlequin Troupe, and always before, they had announced their presence before they'd arrived. Taking tight reign of her emotions, she broke the unnatural stillness by striding forward. Her Incubi followed, seemingly the only ones unaffected by the sudden appearance of 20 Eldar armed for war in the midst of them, without anyone noticing.

Harlequins were patroned by a living god, an ancient and powerful entity who had once been worshiped by Eldar throughout the galaxy. Their abilities were mysterious, and unpredictable. Usually they traveled from place to place; anywhere Eldar lived, whether it was on Craftworlds, actual planets, pirate-ships, or Commorragh itself. No place was barred to them, and all Eldar held respect, and even fear, for the elusive bards.

They were performers, and lore-keepers, re-telling the ancient mythic cycles of their race. Reminding them all where they'd come from, who their greatest enemies were, and what sins had led to their once mighty empire's fall. They also fought in battle, for reasons of their own, aiding any Eldar they willed. There was some greater plan and purpose behind them, but Khirareq, for all her tactical wisdom, could not see it.

There were subtle differences in the Harlequin's costumes, and Khirareq analyzed them quickly as she closed the distance. 2 wore dark armour, their masks brooding expressions reminding her of her own bodyguards; they would be Death Jesters. Of the other 18, only a few stood out. 3 near the middle held themselves so still, she could not even see them breathing; their body control was so complete. Mime's she guessed.

She then did a slight double take as she realized her gaze had slid past one of the troupe members several times, without realizing how different her armour was from the others. Her robes flowed around her slight frame, the colors muted, almost grey. Her build, unlike the others, was so slender she almost appeared sick. She guessed quickly that one was a shadowseer, a psyker, but not the kind she or any sane Dark Eldar would want to mess with.

She approached the seer with the intent to speak, deciding she must be the leader of this troupe. But she checked herself before she'd begun. A little to her right she noticed a troupe member half bowed to one side, his mask hidden from this angle, and little to set him apart aside from one thing. All the Harlequins carried weapons; pistols, and blades, or a forearm mounted spike known as the harlequin kiss. But this one's sword was different.

The Harlequins gained a great deal of their equipment from their secret settlements in the webway, forged by their own hands, or those of their servants. Khirareq wasn't even certain they had servants. Everything they made was both elegant and gaudy; a tricky combination to be sure. But Khirareq knew the difference between Harlequin craftsmanship, and the manufacturing of the true kin. And this sword bore the marks of a Dark Eldar weapon.

With a smirk, she turned to the bowed Harlequin, and addressed him, "Why does the laughing god send his servants to the fortress of the Soul Hunters, Troupe Master?" The harlequins slid into motion, all completing their frozen actions and coming back to stand, clapping without sound in applause of Khirareq's accurate guess.

"Thought we near fooled her, didn't we?" The man in front of her said, his mask twisting into a comical grin as he cocked his head slightly to one side. "The Archon is canny, we would enjoy the knowing of her regard."

There was something about the way the Harlequins talked, even though she'd never seen their faces. Their lilting voices, and poetic verse was very stimulating, and Khirareq did not say that about very many things.

"Your sword." She explained easily. "It was made by artificers of Commorragh, even though you've modified it, and only a troupe master would be gifted such a weapon. It's an agoniser isn't it?"

He nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his headgear, though the expression on his 'second face' was readily discernable, if dramatically exaggerated. They were theater masks, worn both in battle, and in their theatric reproductions of ancient stories, and the exact technology behind their creation and use was not understood by any of their kin, even the advanced Dark Eldar.

"So why have you come?" She stated her original question again, as the harlequins formed ranks into two squads of 10, their every movement a pattern, like a stately dance; though it did please Khirareq that she could note a few who were not quite as good at this unspoken choreography as the others.

The Troupe Master bowed, and introduced himself, as his Shadowseer took up a position at his right hand and slightly behind. "Calleidas I am, leader of this troupe, we have come to join your dance ahead."

The Archon did not even blink, but answered smoothly, "And what 'dance' is that? I have announced no intentions to enter battle in the immediate future." She did not know what sources of information these interlopers had, but she would not give away her cards before they were played, not even when dealing with the laughing god's chosen.

"The Archon's dance partners are the Midnight Reapers, are they not?" He continued, his mask and pose taking on an expression of wounded pride. "Heard the Warqueen was ready, so we came. Is the Khirareq still preparing, and not ready for the grand performance to which she sends her players as we speak?"

The 'Warqueen' frowned. She ought to have known he'd find a way to twist her words against her. There was no help for it, and they were in fact correct. "How did you know we ride to make war on the Reapers?" She asked, ignoring his jibes.

To her surprise, it was the seer who answered. "The darkness keeps no secrets from us, Lady, even the City of Burning Tears speaks to us."

"If you refuse to explain yourselves, why should I let you accompany me?" She retorted quickly, shifting her weight with her one gauntleted hand braced against her hip.

"Because the Archon knows two troupes of true dansers will be invaluable. And she is curious. She has never seen us in battle before, has not had the opportunity to watch us dance the Danse of Death. And…" The seer paused, and the troupe master picked up her narrative without missing a beat.

"We are prepared to reveal our purpose, once the battle is done. We ask only to reserve our share of the spoils; a single captive of our choice turned over to us, and we ask access to the armouries, for the ammunition we will use today, nothing more." They all paused, as the Archon weighed their words carefully.

The performers spoke truth, and Khirareq was indeed curious. Harlequins were not enemies to any True Kin; at least she believed that. They may not share in their race's noble birthright, but followed a greater calling, one she could respect, even if she did not fully understand it. They were not weak like those fools on their Craftworlds, and finally, and most importantly, they _would_ make excellent allies.

"One final condition." Khirareq held up a wraithbone finger, and had the satisfaction of seeing the troupe look startled. Apparently they hadn't counted on her bartering, but taking up their offer as it stood. "Before you leave, give me a way to contact you. In case we might ally again in the future. In exchange, I will grant any of my Kabal that may wish to join your troupe free reign to leave with you, with no fear of repercussions."

The troupe master turned and conferred in an almost silent whisper with his second, the shadowseer, and the High Archon merely waited, content in the knowledge that she had done something even they had not expected.

As they'd conversed, Zul had ushered the workers to continue the preparations, and at some point Gnarsyl had slipped away, to take up his post on the front line before Khirareq was finished, and was able to turn her attention back to him. In a way, the Harlequins arrival had saved him, and given him a chance to redeem himself. Not that Khirareq would have dealt with him too harshly, at least not yet. She needed him in the battle ahead, but it was never a good idea to let mistakes go unpunished for long.

"The Archon's addition is found acceptable." He said at last, as they all bowed again, "Command us as you would your own, our bargain is sealed."

The Queen of War grinned and gestured for them to follow her, "Let me show you how you will be entering this fight." She'd already decided how she would adapt her tactics to include them, and she found the renewed anticipation quite exhilarating.

* * *

Lethis had been mostly unobtrusive, as the forces under her command moved into position, a few units at a time. They moved out in groups large enough to keep the lesser Kabals (little more than gangs who roamed the 'streets' of Commorragh) from seeing them as tempting targets, but still small enough that hopefully no one would take undue notice of them until it was too late.

The 'streets' of Commorragh were the passageways and tunnels around the bases of the larger Kabal fortresses, arenas, factories, and other facilities. Here the lighting was dim, the passages forged of old stone which was now cracked and dirty from the ever-present humidity, and the shifting walls of these larger webway tunnels. Refuse was piled up next to waste disposal units which no longer worked, and everywhere eyes peered out at them from hiding places, most of them malicious and envious of their strength and tactical support.

Lethis suspected that their mistrust and dislike of each other was the only thing preventing these small Kabals from ganging up on her convoys, though they _had_ been forced to shoot down several hellions who'd made a pass at them, injuring one of their raider pilots. They'd swooped in from around a corner, their bat-winged skyboards streaking propellants behind them, as they cackled madly, obviously doped on stimulating combat drugs to the point of fearlessness, as they charged Lethis' transports and managed to land a few solid hits with their polearms before they'd been shot out of the air.

Several small piles of burning wreckage and tangled limbs were all that was left of those Hellions they'd hit, nearly half a dozen casualties to their one; who, unlike the skyboard riders, would recover.

There were no other incidents before they made it to a vantage point overlooking their target. Once he'd caught up to her several convoys later, Threchul had joined her in observing the Arena fortress of the Cult of Despair. It was set apart from the Midnight Reaper's main fortress, just as the Laboratory fortress of the Death Watchers. It was a tactical weakness Khirareq had seemed particularly amused by.

Unlike the Soul Hunters' fortress, this was a low wide building, curved slightly along the rounded floor of the massive tunnel. High walls surrounded it, with guarded pathways leading directly from the main gates to the Arena entrance. The main facility was large enough for a greater Kabal like the Soul Hunters to occupy without filling it, watching the wyches perform and practice in their gladiatorial pits. A truly large Kabal like the Shadow Fang would never fit altogether into a smaller arena like this. Such a force would visit the coliseums, where many rival Cults would shed each other's blood for the High Archons' sport.

Lethis and Threchul watched and waited. Threchul grinned at her unceasingly, even as his eyes flitted back and forth from their unsuspecting prey ahead, to her ever more irritable countenance. She wore her combat armour, minus her stylized half helm, with her electrocorrosive whip coiled and deactivated at her waist. Mounted on one forearm was a miniature grenade launcher that fired tiny pitted spheres of tortured wraithbone. The True Kin themselves rarely fashioned the substance on their own, preferring to strip it from their cowardly kindred's weapons and vehicles whenever they captured them as spoils of war.

Psychically charged and tortured to a semblance of insanity, the fired projectiles would induce psychic hallucinations in any unfortunate enough to be standing nearby when they impacted. Such a tool was very useful in the midst of combat, though it was markedly short range.

Threchul was adorned much as he usually was, his face hideous, though his grin never wavered. His robes concealed carefully constructed armour, equal in strength to her own more obvious defenses. One hand was fitted with a delicate looking glove of tiny tubes, and long razor sharp blades extending from every finger. With a mental impulse he could inject an infinitely lethal dose of toxins from any of the four claws.

His other arm was wrapped in a bracer, much like Lethis' was, but his supported a longer weapon, with a thin nozzle on the front. Like her phantasm grenade launcher, and his scissorhand it could be activated with a thought, and would then pump virulent fluids from a container somewhere under his robes to spray from that corroded nozzle. Even more deadly than the poisons from his finger blades, these toxins could burn through armour, and reduce several man-sized targets to quivering pain-wracked balls of sludge in an instant.

He wisely kept his weapon pointed away from her. His stare was already irking her, though she would not admit it, and she doubted she'd have been able to control her temper had it even appeared he might be threatening her.

"So what toys did you bring to aid in this battle?" She asked at last, tiring of the silence stretching between them as they awaited the signal to begin the assault. She turned slightly to face him, while still keeping her eyes on the fortress beyond them.

"Interesting; that you refer to my playthings as toys." He replied with a soft chuckle. "I have several rather imposing victims I have cultivated for a battle such as this. Two of those so called Marines, and several sterilized Orks." The Space Marines of the Imperium were genetically enhanced with extra organs, and other processes, which made them far stronger, faster, and larger than any regular humans. They were physically a match for some of the larger Orks; a race of barbarian warmongers who loved little more than fighting for the sake of fighting. The Dark Eldar had long ago learned to sterilize the green skinned aliens so they could not multiply. If they were left as they were, their numbers would swell far faster than the Kindred could keep them in check, even here in Commorragh.

"So they are large hulking grotesques?" Lethis asked, curious despite herself, one thin eyebrow arched above her cerulean eye. "I do not believe I have seen such things in battle before."

"Indeed, they are harder to come by than smaller breeds, but very useful, once properly trained." He closed his eyes and shuddered as he drew in a deep breath. "There is little that compares to the smell of fear exuded by one who was once a mighty warrior. Orks may be easier to tame than Astartes…"

"Astartes?" Lethis interrupted, unfamiliar with the term he'd used.

"Imperial Marines, precious." The haemonculus explained, his grin growing wider, "Do try to keep up; it is what they call themselves."

"Why should I care what they call themselves?" She retorted angrily, her smooth brow furrowing beneath her dark hairline.

"You must know your prey if you are to master them, and defeat them. Surely the High Archon has mentioned as much to you in the past."

The Dracon colored, and turned ahead. Khirareq _had_ said as much to her on numerous occasions. "So they're easier to tame… but?" She prompted.

"But…" He paused for emphasis, enjoying her discomfort. "They are far more difficult to break. They do not understand fear; it must be taught to them, and it takes a skilled hand to force such a lesson into such a primitive mind."

"A skilled hand like yours." She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Precisely. Oh, I'm sure others have mastered the techniques more fully than I, but this is not the first such creature I have broken." He continued, completely ignoring her condescending tone, his grin widening almost imperceptibly, as if it wasn't already unnaturally spread. "I'm sure you will enjoy watching these in the fight ahead, but do not let your awe of my masterful skills distract you from your own purpose here. We have an objective to attain after all."

Lethis merely grunted, resisting the urge to growl at the self-important Haemonculus. His boasting was no doubt calculated to irritate her, and it was working. Still, she could not deny, at least to herself, that she was curious about his grotesques. The Haemonculi were quite adept at torturing lesser creatures until they were inured to pain, and incapable of harboring any thought but the will to serve and fight in battle.

As the Master Haemonculus had just explained, some creatures were easier to tame than others, and while the Dracon had little interest in learning the torturer's arts, the subject never failed to intrigue her.

A flash of light in the vast space above them in the webway tunnel, where the air and gravity was thin, heralded the breaking of their brief silence, as the assembled warriors shifted, and pilots activated engines.

That was their prearranged signal, and Lethis grinned as she pulled her half-helm over her head, and moved back from their vantage point to take up position on her own hellion skyboard.

She of course, was not a wych, or a member of one of the Hellion gangs who normally utilized skyboards on a regular basis. But she found the personal vehicle to be an exhilarating vantage from which to experience battles, its speed did not quite match some of the larger craft the Dark Eldar used, but it was still quite a rush to push it to its limits, feeling the wind whip around her with little to shield her from the carnage.

She made sure the magnetic restraints were activated, to keep her feet on the board, then activated the anti-grav motor which caused it to raise into the air a few reaches. A quick adjustment of her balance was all she needed to sway the board forwards and back a few times, to make sure it was working properly, and tuned to her weight and frame.

Satisfied with her control, she twisted midair to face her assembled army. Her skyboard was flanked by 4 raider transports, along with two heavier ravagers, which traded transport capacity for a bit more armour and heavy weapons. Two squadrons of jetbike riders waited slightly behind the larger skimmers, as her warriors on foot moved into position.

She watched as Threchul moved back towards the grav lifts next to the rear most raider, where his underlings kept his pets ready. His grotesques were on two of the raiders with his two lesser Haemonculi who were getting them ready, as their Master concerned himself primarily with a much larger beast.

Half machine, half tortured slave, the Talos was a melding of a once sentient creature to a living torture device and war machine. This one walked on thick scorpion-like legs, which shuddered and twitched with every movement, a tail (which only emphasized the arachnid imagery), was mounted with a powerful anti-armour weapon, like a dark lance, but with multiple rotating barrels. Its metallic claws clacked together spasmodically as Threchul released its safeguards, and sent it forwards, hungry and eager for victims.

The raiders rose up on gravitic engines to let the Talos pass. It continued past the two warrior squads carrying dark lances who were entrenching themselves within range of the Arena's outer wall, ready to fire once the wyches began their counter attack.

Lethis smiled to herself, eager to see how her troops would perform. Many of them had fought under her command for years, and they could still surprise her with their quick thinking in the heat of combat.

This… was going to be fun!

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the fifth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exceptions are the name of my main character (Khirareq), and the reference to the Shadow Fang Kabal, neither of which I invented.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the harlequins in this and later chapters.

And a special acknowledgment to **Locarno**, of the www. community, for his Will to Power series, for which the Kabal name "Shadow Fang" is a tribute. Thanks for writing such an inspiring story.


	6. Besieged

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 6: Besieged**

Chapter Summary: The fight is begun, and Khirareq's ambitions are coming to fruition, will the enemy be able to withstand her well-planned assault?

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts, violence, and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

Archon Khroest sat at his personal dais overlooking the main pit of the Cult of Despair's Arena. He was tall for an Eldar already even without the extra height of the raised platform and throne-like chair, so he sat well above his bodyguard to either side, forcing them to crane to look up if they wanted to watch him at all.

His hair was a dark almost charcoal grey, with his blue armour almost perfectly matching his deep blue eyes. Even here, enjoying a few meta-pulses of leisure, he was dressed for war, his weapons of choice, two short swords with a pair of curved blades extending at angles from the hilts, were draped over a mounting on his throne devised just for that purpose. Silver highlights glittered along the edges of individual armour plates, as he watched the spectacle below him, lit by large crystal orbs suspended in the air above the main arena pit.

The wyches of the cult he supported were putting on a practice match for his entertainment between two of their best champions, who even now circled each other, blood dripping from several shallow cuts on both warriors' skin. Their darker armour left a lot of their flesh bare, and let their salty sweat sting their minor injuries, the crimson blood seeming to blend with their armours' reddish black trim.

The Archon was not so engrossed in the match that he failed to hear three dull thuds reverberate through the ground. The fighting below him stopped, the wyches curious and uncertain. Khroest drew to his feet, glancing around, wondering what would make such a sound. He thought he heard the shrill whistle of splinter weapons firing somewhere in the distance, echoing and amplified through the vast halls of the Cult fortress.

"Lord Archon, we are under attack!" A warrior ran into the private theater box, skidding to a halt in front of the Hierarch and his four most trusted Sybarites, standing defensively between the runner and their lord.

"By whom!" The Archon demanded, outraged that this much-needed day of relaxation from his recent stresses was being interrupted. After the Eyries' recent insults, and the failed attempts to renew ties with his Incubi, he'd been feeling stretched, like he'd been the victim of some haemonculus' height increasing torture device. He just wanted to watch his servants kill each other for a while; their pain and souls would be a soothing balm to his nerves. And yet, he realized that with the Incubi gone from his fortresses, this must seem like the perfect time for some outside force to launch an assault.

"I don't know, it's a Talos with midnight blue and light grey markings." The messenger reported, eyes wide. His armour had a fine coating of ferrocrete dust; he'd obviously just come from the walls, and some of that material used in the defensive constructions must have been blown apart to alight on him. That would explain the thuds he'd heard; some kind of breaching weapon like a dark lance; which of course, would mean that the Haemonculi who owned the Talos had Kabal support.

Khroest thought quickly to remember the details of the various Kabals, and their allied Covens, who might have a bit of a grudge against him, or who had shown undue attention to his activities in recent times. Finally he asked, "Was there a sigil, of a key with a lavender slash across it, somewhere on the plating?"

The warrior considered then nodded. "Yes I believe there was." He affirmed, as his Lord and bodyguard began moving out of the audience box.

"The Keepers of Darkness then, the Coven attached to the Soul Hunters Kabal." He sneered, moving past the warrior, who fell into step behind his sybarites. "The Soul Hunters must be growing strong, or arrogant, to attack us openly. They are still small, and Khirareq has not yet earned the support of any of the grand courts. Well let's see what they're up to."

As they moved towards the outer wall, the remains of two squads of sentries rushed down the halls towards them, raising a second alarm. "High Archon Khroest, the outer wall is breached. Our positions were overrun by reavers with slave-taking gear". These men had been stationed in the sentry towers with heavy guns designed to repel invaders. With decent sized turrets, they had to be fairly open on the sides, which had allowed the sleek jetbikes to assault them before they could rouse themselves enough to bring their weapons to bear.

Khroest did not have time to respond, as at that moment, the jetbikes in question came screaming around the corner in the wide hallway, blades sparking as they scraped against the walls. They took aim and fired their bike mounted splinter rifles at the retreating warriors. A moment later, a single lance of black energy pierced through one of the main walls of the enclosed arena from somewhere in the yards outside, shattering the light structures above them. It also dropped some debris that the warriors and their Lord quickly took advantage of as cover.

Khroest took a slight risk peaking out around the rubble, to get a look at the oncoming bikes. "There he is!" One of the lead reaver riders shouted, pointing at him and his Hierarch. "Take him alive!" They careened past, as he and his warriors opened fire with their rifles and pistols, one hapless fool was caught by a long barbed whip carried by the reavers. He was dragged through the air around the next corner screaming, though that scream was rather abruptly silenced.

"Fire at those vermin as soon as they come back for another pass." The Archon ordered, and the remaining 7 warriors maneuvered to gain additional cover from their enemies expected approach angle. Their Archon turned to his Hierarch as they ducked back around the corner and conferred with him in the smaller hallway. "I want to know their numbers, and I want the wyches mobilized. Tell them to send khimerae to occupy the enemy while we withdraw. We will rally at the Kabal fortress, and launch a counter attack from there, it seems they're here for me, a kidnapping attempt no doubt."

"They will not succeed, lord." Hierarch Raphessdon bowed then turned, his armour creaking as he left to fulfill his lord's decree.

"You two, go with him." Khroest continued, sending a pair of sybarites with the Hierarch. "You stay with the sentries and hold this corridor." He added, gesturing to the messenger who'd delivered the first warning. "I don't want a single rider to get past into the arenas."

"As you command." The warrior took off around the corner, fearing his lord's displeasure more than the fight in the hall. As soon as he was alone, the Kabal Lord moved to the wall, pressing his hand between a crevice and pulling a hidden catch. He slipped silently into the secret passage that was revealed for only a moment, and held it open long enough for the remaining two sybarites to join him.

He would show Khirareq that she'd made a grievous mistake. He had several weapons he'd been saving for quite some time, for a situation like this one.

* * *

"My Lord, from what you say this is a small offensive, is that correct?" Khroest observed the shimmering image of his Haemonculus Master in the holo-field aperture of the image-caster in front of his throne. He was back in his own fortress, where even now his men prepared for their counter-assault.

"What of it? I want the Tormentor released, to set an example of these upstarts." He told the grisly man irritably, pacing back and forth in front of the hologram. The image showed the Master Haemonculus' upper torso, and little else. The man's face was half hidden by a carefully crafted coating of articulated plates, connected to implants that allowed it to move with his expressions. Only his eyes and his bloodless lips were not obscured.

"It will take time of course, to activate the titan, and payment." Came the calm response, no hint of urgency in the torturer's voice.

"Money? Your forces are at my call, I pay you enough as it is. Is it shards or souls you want, or more of my wyches' slaves?" He was not pleased at how this conversation was going. The last report he'd heard, the wyches of the Cult of Despair were setting up barricades, after their arena beasts had been slaughtered from the air. The reavers had pulled back after he'd disappeared, making passes at any warriors that tried to set up a firing position, as two enemy warrior squads on raiders rained splinters and dark matter from the sky.

The wyches were close combat troops, and they badly needed fire support if they were going to defeat this airborn foe. Even their own Hellions and Reaver riders were pinned down, wary of either the raiders or the Talos, either of which could take them out of the fight quickly before they could get to anything their skills would actually serve them well against.

"We've recently lost some of our best experiments, and require fresh subjects, or the return of some of our previous pets if we are to again progress." The haemonculus stated flatly, inspecting a surgeon's knife as if it particularly interested him. "Perhaps news of additional payment will increase the fervor with which we carry out your orders."

The haemonculus was being difficult, and Khroest did not have time to debate with him. "Fine, I'll give you back some of your playthings. But the Succubus will not be pleased." He stopped in front of the display and reached for the deactivation rune.

"The Succubus will…" High Archon Khroest cut off the transmission, and growled to himself, turning to face his retinue of warriors. It would have been better of course to have Incubi at his sides, but these warriors were skilled, and certainly knew their place enough not to try anything 'ambitious' while he was alert in the midst of battle.

"Let's move out, we need to get the heavy skimmers mobilized. Let's see how that Talos likes a phase cannon down its gullet." He grinned, leading the way out of his throne room to the hangar where his army assembled. He'd already sent several squads of warriors through the hidden passages back to the Arena, but this force would counter assault through the air.

Almost 2-dozen raiders, a full wing of ravagers, and a pair of his prize death hunter heavy skimmers led by one subordinate Archon and half his Dracon court, were accompanying him. The hangar was opened, and the first row of skimmers turned to fly out into the twilight gloom.

Soon his entire force was soaring over the landscape, navigating a sizable gap between two towering structures halfway from his fortress to that of the Cult of Despair. Khroest gave a start when he saw a shimmer of black fall from one of the already dark towers. There was a flare of green witch-fire exhaust as engines ignited, and he realized what he was seeing; a scourge transport, known as a night screamer, with bat-winged warriors hanging from the supports along each side.

The mercenary craft slowed as it came into range of his lead raiders, and the Archon snapped out of his stunned stupor and issued a frantic order to his entire army at once through the crystal psi-emitter in his helm. _"Evasive maneuvers, assault from above, you fools!"_

He could make out the scourges, with their surgically grafted gravitic wings, strapped into the slings on either side of the transport, taking aim with stabilized gun mounts as the vehicle came within striking range. A lance of black energy erupted from the nose of the space fighter, a moment before glittering spheres were fired from the four wing mounted gun slings. 1 Raider was torn in half by the beam cutting through it, the warriors leaping from the rails as it crashed. Some of them landed safely on a nearby ledge, while others fell to their deaths in the city streets below.

The remaining transports veered erratically, trying to evade the incoming fire. But the 4 haywire grenades launched from the gun-slings caught 3 of them. One raider went dead, tumbling into the ground as its control system was fried by the blast of electromagnetic energy, soon little more than a twisted wreck. Of the others, one almost crashed, its pilot losing control for a moment, and the other lost speed, carefully lowering to the streets before her engines gave out completely.

"_Get lower, we can't fight it in the air."_ Khroest ordered. By this point several of the gunners on other craft were taking shots at the jet. But the skilled scourge pilot twisted the graceful ship and disengaged, screaming off on powerful engines into the dark ahead of them. His anti-vehicle ravagers in the back of the formation had not been in range the whole time. His skimmers were too spread out.

When the black jet did not return he breathed a sigh of relief. It was most likely an isolated incident, not related to the assault against his wyches. The scourge Eyries were not happy with him lately. And while the mercenaries normally did not attack randomly, as some of the lesser gangs did, they had been known to practice piracy when they were short on work. They must have seen his force, and been unable to resist taking a few shots at his loose and sloppy formation.

After a moment it became apparent that one of the raiders would be unable to get back into the air right away, and if he left them there, no doubt the nightscreamer would return to salvage loot, and maybe capture slaves from them. _"I want two ravagers, and two raider squads to stay here and guard these troops until they can make it back to base."_ He directed through his telepathic feed.

He didn't like splitting up his forces, but 16 raiders and 4 ravagers should still be enough for this battle ahead. He had his pilots bring the skimmers closer to the ground, and into a tighter flight pattern as they moved onwards, and soon the sounds of battle reached them; the crystalline chimes of splinter fire, the dull sucking thuds of dark lances, and the ring of blades against each other.

As they flew now only a few dozen reaches from the cluttered street below, he could make out the breached wall ahead around the Cult's arena fortress. Suddenly he heard a chime that meant a long-range communication was being sent through his helm crystal. He closed his eyes and sensed for the direction and distance; it was back at his own base. Silently he let the psychic communication through to his mind. _"Lord, the Kabal fortress has come under attack."_

"_What?"_ Khroest immediately called a halt to his skimmers' forward momentum, and told them to hold position while he sought some more information. He recognized the mental resonance as his direct subordinate, Archon Schoreal, who he'd left behind to defend their fortress in his absence. _"Explain yourself."_ He continued once he could give his full attention to his lieutenant.

"_A full contingent of the Soul Hunter's Kabal, supported by a slavebringer."_ He explained quickly, _"They came in before we fully closed the hangar, took us by surprise. Now they're both inside and outside the fortress, neutralizing our defenses. They've…"_ Suddenly he paused, but only for an instant, _"Dark Prince! I'm being personally engaged, it's a troupe of Harlequins. I'm sorry my lord!"_

The communication ended with that sharp painful crack from how quickly he'd broken contact with Khroest's thoughts. _Harlequins? Since when did the Soul Hunters have allies among the lore keepers?_ The stakes were even higher than he'd thought, and he'd fallen for the feint of the Queen of War. He quickly opened a channel to his Hierarch, forcing himself to breath deeply to calm his mental 'voice'. _"Raphessdon, abandon the Arena, and bring all forces back to the Kabal at once, and inform the Death Watchers to meet us there as well. We've been tricked."_

His second responded with a quick affirmation and the High Archon refocused his thoughts to his own units around him. _"We return home, the enemy is at our gates, and we shall not give up the fortress easily."_ They acknowledged his orders, and the craft swiveled in turn to go back the way they'd come. This time Khroest was leading the pack, speeding off on his personal raider no-longer caring if he kept a tight formation or not. It was more important to get back in good time, and he would gather the troops he'd left on the way. He could afford to lose one more raider and he had a feeling he'd need every warrior to fight off this siege.

He was about to contact his forces between here and their base when two explosions sounded behind him. He turned back to see what had been the two raiders at the front of their line, but now were in the back of his forces, fall to the streets in balls of twisted engines and burning propellant. The warriors onboard leapt away from the wrecks and fell to the ground, mostly unharmed.

One raider hung back, disoriented by this new attack, and began firing at two groups of warriors, which had apparently been hiding beneath them along the street. Splinters reflected glimmering light for a moment before 4 dark lance beams tore through the raider's hull, and sent it spiraling into a nearby processing plant wall. He didn't think any of the transported warriors would survive that one.

"Lord, do we turn around and fight?" Sybarite Cerelos asked him from his position a little behind him on the raider's transport platform. He did not seem especially concerned, but as his retinue leader, and battlefield advisor, he wanted to make sure he knew if this changed their plans.

Khroest growled, they'd already lost 4 of his raider craft without so much as claiming a single casualty from their enemy, but it was more important to get back to the fortress before it was completely overrun. "No, leave them. I'm sure the warriors who bailed out back there will take a few of the enemy with them before they die." He bit his lip as he saw a pair of ravagers move into view behind them, led by a lone figure on a skyboard. The bolts of black energy being fired from the vehicles made it all too clear they were mounted with anti-infantry disintegrator cannons rather than dark lances, which would make short work of his warriors.

He growled again as he turned his focus forwards, opening his channel to one of the sybarites he'd left behind to guard the immobilized raider between the towers. _"Nerosi, fall back to the…"_ He was interrupted before he could finish.

"_Lord Khroest, we're under attack!"_ The Archon was getting very tired of those words, like a broken memory recording repeating itself endlessly.

"_Did those Scourges return?"_ He asked, _"Just blast them out of the sky and…"_

Once again the Sybarite interjected, _"The nightscreamer, and a murder of ravens from the Soul Hunters."_ He informed the High Archon, his mind panicking. The information was somewhat unnecessary, as Khroest was close enough to the two spires to see the three spacecraft circling, the ravens bearing the colors of their enemy Kabal. _"They picked off the ravagers first, and they…"_

"_Forget them, and get back to base."_ Their leader directed them abruptly. _"We're on our way to you, we'll shoot them down for you."_

He watched the exhaust ports on the back of each raider flare as they warmed up and began to speed away, and in that instant he realized the flaw in his plan. Prince! But he really needed to clear his head, and stop making rash commands.

"_Belay that order, come back to our formation, lead them to us!"_ He tried to correct himself, but it was two late. The fighters had circled around and pulled further away from his own craft to pursue the two fleeing raiders. As they slowed to turn back his way the enemy ships targeted and destroyed one, and crippled the other before continuing onwards into the twilight.

Khroest growled, angry with himself, but quickly issued one last command. _"Hook up with the other raider squad, and defend each other until I can send troops to retrieve you. Abandon the raiders and make your way back to base if you can."_

He cut off the psychic feed before the sybarite could respond, and focused his mind on thoughts of strategy as his fleet flew past the injured skimmers, following the spacecraft back towards his base.

* * *

At the Archon's orders, Hierarch Raphessdon had gathered all the forces he could muster in the cult Arena, leaving only a few of the wyches behind to watch the slave pits. He secured the passages into the catacombs and then retreated with the Succubus and both their combined forces through the hidden tunnel leading back to his master's Kabal fortress.

His combat armour was elaborately embellished, but was missing its helmet. He had not been expecting to go into combat today, and even though he was cautious by nature, his headgear was not absolutely essential for protection. However, he did have a psi-crystal delicately crafted into his ornamental hairpiece, through which he could receive and relay telepathic orders.

After receiving the latest directives from the High Archon, he'd brought his remaining troops to the fallback point near the hidden entrance to the tunnel connecting the two fortresses. They were trying to be subtle, leaving distractions behind to prevent their enemies from discovering this place, but their efforts had apparently been anticipated.

As soon as all but him and his personal sybarites were through the gates, the enemy opened fire. He wasn't sure how long the warriors had been hiding and watching them, but they'd apparently known they'd try to flee, and had circumvented their diversion to discover the location of their hidden passage entrance.

"Abandon the gates, and fall back to the fortress." He instructed in a loud voice ushering his foot troops forwards. "Reavers to the rear, and engage any forces that come through."

The narrow tunnels would make maneuvering difficult, but even without the room to get up speed, reaver jetbikes were about the toughest thing he had to guard their backs. He heard a crash behind them, and took cover in a side alcove to look back. Something, probably the talos, had wrenched open the doors, and the walls around them, enlarging the opening into the escape tunnel.

Through that gap poured twisted forms, shambling with surprising speed towards the reavers, who already shifted uncertainly at the approaching wracks and grotesques, their bikes moving with their adjusted weight and edging backwards in reverse before Raphessdon could remind them of their commands.

"_Open fire with shredders, and blasters!"_ He sent the order through his telepathic feed.

The wyches on their jetbikes seemed to snap out of their momentary fear and activated their weapons. Shimmering clouds of monofilament meshes glided gracefully through the air into the oncoming monsters; torture victims with all manner of blades and other weapons grafted into their limbs, their countenances hidden behind faceless masks, permanently welded to their heads.

The Hierarch wasn't certain if they didn't know fear, or that they simply feared their master's attentions far more than they could possibly fear injury in battle. He knew he'd rather die in battle than become a permanent experiment under the torturer's knife.

Several of the creatures were torn apart by the shredder discharges, and a few more were felled by the short range dark lances known as blasters, impaled by beams of dark energy which killed them instantly, then dropped them to crumpled heaps on the ground.

But there were still more of them, and the erratic splinter fire echoing through the passage was not phasing them in the least. They shrugged off the minor wounds caused by the splinters, and ignored the poisons grown inside the ammunition crystals before they were shattered and fired from rifles and pistols alike.

They continued forwards, and soon were joined by the talos crawling through the increasingly large hole it had made. A blast of powerful black energy crashed into the nearest jetbike, sending it careening sideways into one of its siblings.

_That shot had come from the creature's tail!_ Raphessdon thought. _Is that a __**Gatling**__ Dark Lance?_ Dark lances were potent enough on their own, but he distinctly saw four barrels on that weapon, which rotated as he watched and fired off a second blast while the bikes were still reeling from the first.

"_Charge that beast!"_ He urged mentally, knowing the reavers were among the few things they had which could actually hurt a Talos in close combat. _"Succubus Marrissa, I need two squads of wyches to take care of those grotesques."_ He added, quickly opening a channel to the Wych Lord somewhere ahead of them in the tunnel.

No sooner had he made the request for aide, than he noticed some new forms near the Talos. They made their way around it just behind the grotesques, and immediately reacted to the reavers skimming over the tops of the undead-resembling creations.

"Thirst! They're not going to make it!" He thought aloud, as two of the figures raised their arms, long nozzles pointed up from the weapons built around their bracers, and let loose twin streams of bio-toxins.

Several audible and nerve grating screams echoed hollowly down the tunnel as at least three of the reavers melted and twisted with their riders still onboard, and crashed into others in their desperate attempt to escape the impossible pain while they were already dying.

A moment later one of the riders exploded, pierced by a pair of darts containing a most insidious toxin. Raphessdon was familiar with the haemonculi's injector pistols. They were like tranquilizer guns, but the stinger toxins they injected reacted violently to most organic being's chemistry causing them to become living bombs. In the few instants after being struck, the victim endured unimaginable pain as their insides combusted, and boiled, and split apart at the seams. Then, their torment was cut short as they burst apart, showering corrosive fluids, entrails and shrapnel into all around them.

Before they'd even finished their charge, the reaver squadron was no more; half of it burned by the haemonculi's liquefier guns, and their stinger darts, and the other half blowing up and crashing into each other in the confined space.

The debris took a couple grotesques with them, but that was not enough. _"Never mind, just get through the tunnel for thirst's sake so we can gain some maneuvering room!"_ He ordered, changing his mind and realizing they didn't stand a chance against the coven forces in such a confined space, they seemed to be generally equipped specifically to fight wyches.

He turned and ran, sprinting for all he was worth down the tunnel, hoping that the grotesques and their haemonculi masters would not be able to keep up. He heard a roar, and glanced back again to see something that may have once been an Ork charging alongside two other massive grotesques. The haemonculi followed closely behind, but those larger abominations were putting a bit of distance between themselves and the rest of their number.

Over it all came a skyboard rider, looping upside down as it passed the lead grotesques. It was not a hellion, and as it drew closer he realized it was a she. He turned and braced his feat, keeping his retractable spear low for the moment, knowing that he'd have the advantage of reach once the weapon was fully extended, and one chance to take the rider down before she realized that fact.

She brandished a whip, crackling with energy, and smiled as she made to fly past him. Suddenly the crack-scream of a splinter cannon firing split the air, the glimmering shards angling towards him from one side of the tunnel a bit behind the grotesques.

He felt the pinpricks bite into his flesh a moment before the poisons lanced pain through his system. He cried out and fell to his knees just in time to avoid the whip coiling about his neck and ripping his head off. He continued slumping to the tunnel floor, his mind going gratefully numb as he lost consciousness.

The warrior with the splinter cannon had saved the skyboard rider's life, though Raphessdon doubted the female commander realized it.

* * *

They were using his own defenses against him! Lord Archon Khroest fumed silently, twirling one of his ornate swords idly as he looked carefully around the corner of his barracks structure.

He'd retaken the hangars first. The doors had not been fully closed when the Soul Hunters had swarmed in, and though they'd attempted to capture it, and the vehicles inside, one lucky and devious warrior from his own Kabal had blown up a raider in the gap between the doors.

The satchel charge, and the shrapnel from the transport skimmer had damaged the hangar doors so they were now stuck, and the wreckage had blocked the gap so no vehicles could come in or out until it was cleared.

The Archon was not giving them the opportunity. He'd stationed some of his best sharpshooters in range of the gates with a pair of dark lances, with instructions to snipe anyone who so much as peaked through.

A few of Khirareq's forces were stuck inside, and Khroest had turned his attention back to other venues. There'd been men inside the barracks when he'd left; they were now dead, and the tower turret had been commandeered by hostile forces.

The disruptor cannon swiveled back and forth, raining a relentless hail of darkmatter bursts all around. The barrage had been enough to disable Khroest's raider, and kill a few of his retinue before they'd gotten into cover at the base of the primary structure.

Worse, Khirareq's titan class skimmer roamed the air above the many gaps and walkways inside his outer walls, taking shots at anything foolish enough to break cover when it was in range.

He'd ordered his units to stay away from the slavehunter command skiff and fight cautiously. He couldn't afford to waste any more of his artillery craft, and he knew his own tormentor titan would be arriving eventually. That monster could take on that super-heavy skimmer.

After taking his time assessing the situation, he activated a mental channel to the pilots on his remaining ravagers waiting in position just outside the fortress walls with instructions to be on alert for incoming aircraft.

"_I need two disintegrator ravagers in the main lane in front of the barracks right away. Keep away from the barracks tower, and simply target the foot warriors entrenched in front of the slave pits before withdrawing."_ He hoped it would be enough. He was taking a gamble that they'd be able to get in and out without running into the flyer patrols or the slavehunter.

It wasn't long before he heard the hum of engines, then saw black bolts streak into the street across from him where the enemy warriors were stationed. He was satisfied to see one die with a hole decayed through his chest, but then rather than shooting back with their dark lances, they withdrew inside the slave pits.

"_Get back now!" _he thought loudly, before signaling his own squads, and ducking around the corner. He had a feeling they had something sneaky planned for his ravagers, but since the enemy was gone, the path to the barracks doors was now clear. He made it inside the doors and held them open for his retinue, and the two raider squads following him, and glanced back outside in time to see a blur of movement over the roof of the next building over.

_It's those pesky scourges again._ He thought, but didn't watch long enough to confirm it. Shots were being fired, and he heard at least one explosion as he made his way to the entrance to the barracks tower.

He was not surprised when a hail of splinter fire met the first warrior he sent through the stairwell doors, killing him in an instant. "Sybarite Cerelos, I think it's time to release the djinn." He murmured softly. His retinue leader nodded, and unclasped a small device from his belt.

He stepped forwards into the doorway as he pulled the cap off the vaguely urn shaped object and held it forwards pointing up the stairs into the tower. There was an inaudible screech as the daemon bound inside the bottle tore free of its prison, emitting bolts of lighting in every direction as it blasted a path up the stair, sending the defending warriors diving for cover to get out of its way.

A moment later, he and his squad stormed through in its wake, falling on the startled enemy before they could recover from the painful passing of the warp entity. Khroest and his sybarite cut them up quickly, ensuring all were dead before ascending the stairs to the top, and silencing the gunners manning the turret.

_Not too bad._ He thought. He didn't know if both ravagers had survived outside, but at least inside he'd only lost one more soldier, and not from his retinue this time either. He stationed a few men in the tower to operate the reclaimed turret then descended to find an image-caster. He hailed his Master Haemonculus again, after making sure the channel was secure.

He waited for a moment, thinking about what he would do to Khirareq or any of her subordinates he captured. He pulled himself out of his reverie when he realized almost a terr-pulse had passed with no response. He hailed again, knowing that a loud chime would be sounding in the Haemonculus' chamber every time he sent the hail.

Another terr-pulse, and 4 chimes later, he turned away from the image-caster in disgust. "Cerelos, stay by the caster, and notify me immediately if any response comes through." He ordered, motioning for the rest of his retinue and both squads of warriors to follow him.

Something was wrong, and he just knew Khirareq was behind it. He couldn't afford to wait any longer for his Haemonculi, he would have to assume for the moment that they were not coming to his aide, for whatever reason. He'd have to retake his fortress with the forces he had.

He may have outnumbered Khirareq's army significantly, fighting with greater familiarity of the terrain, and superior overall firepower, but she had him outmaneuvered, and outflanked. His own army was mostly pinned down in scattered groups. He would have to get aggressive, and take some greater risks if he was going to turn the tide.

_First thing's first._ He thought, _I need to regroup with any surviving defenders, and re-open my lines of communication._

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the sixth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the harlequins in this and other chapters.


	7. Blood, Opportunity, and Desperation

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 7: Blood, Opportunity, and Desperation**

Chapter Summary: Vallus is back, and the siege against the Midnight Reapers is still going. Will these new reinforcements be enough to turn the tide, or will Khirareq fail after all?

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts, and violence. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

As the Ash Phoenix drifted back into the Soul Hunter's hangars Vallus could see that a lot of craft were missing, and he had a sneaking suspicion where they'd gone. His ship was undamaged, had gone completely undetected even, as far as he was aware, and while some small amount of wear was expected from travel through the webway and in space, it was nothing that could be noticed even by his keen senses.

6 metapulses seemed to have changed a lot in his absence, he mused. He strolled casually down the ramp at the back of his hunting ship with his helmet tucked under one arm. It had taken him closer to 8 metapulses, or about 1 standard day in Imperial time, to make his way out of Commorragh to the tunnels that led to Khirareq's target star system where he'd killed the grey knight. Then he'd spent another 7 metapulses getting back after the sabotage raid.

However, thanks to the vagaries of the webway paths he'd traveled, only a third of that time had passed here. Which meant that whatever plot Khirareq had been up to in his absence was most likely still under-way, and he was definitely refreshed enough to participate.

He surmised looking at just how many plots were vacant in the expansive hangar that Khirareq had a large offensive planned that couldn't have even waited for the Dueling Lord's return. The timing must have been fairly critical, yet she also trusted that Vallus would be able to finish his own mission and return in time to aid if needed. What's more, he fully hoped that he was needed. A chance to battle yet another worthy foe along with one more chance to prove his worth to his Archon was something to be desired in Vallus' book.

He leapt to the ground before the ramp was finished lowering, and snapped his gauntleted fingers at the first warrior he spotted passing by. "You there, does the Lord Archon Khirareq have additional orders for me?" He requested, wondering if she'd left instructions behind.

"Orders?" The soldier replied nervously, "I do not know, perhaps you should ask…" The cowering creature's reply was thankfully interrupted, by a much colder and informed voice.

"She wants us to join her." Hierarch Zul's silky smooth baritone carried easily across the wide chamber in the relative silence that prevailed in the absence of the majority of its occupants.

"Us?" Vallus' own voice was a bit quizzical, with one black eyebrow arched in incredulity. "She wants me to fight alongside you?" Despite Zul's fearsome reputation, Vallus was not actually afraid of him. He understood the politics behind their positions, and was confident in his own skills. Still, they'd never really gotten along, not that this was common knowledge to anyone but them and the High Archon.

"Do not worry, my proximity will not be hazardous." Zul offered, smiling to himself, easily catching Vallus' veiled wariness despite his experienced attempt to appear nonchalant. "I am to lead forces of my own."

"Well that should be interesting." The Dueling Lord's reply was accompanied by a toothy sardonic grin, "I don't think I've ever seen you don armour before. I take it this is a rather large scale conflict we're entering into?" He moved a little away from his ship as he spoke, and his Incubi descended behind him, followed by the curious Mandrakes and the 2 warrior squads he'd taken along.

"Indeed, and all is not going according to plan." The Hierarch responded as he motioned for Vallus to follow him, turning towards where a few raiders were waiting, their engines already warmed.

"I'll be right with you." Vallus replied, earning a nod before he turned back to survey his hunting ship, and the troops he'd brought with him. He singled out the lone surviving warrior who'd attempted to assassinate him earlier, and motioned him forwards. His Incubi surrounded them, and made certain the upstart had no way to escape.

"Before we left I told you that whichever of the two of you performed the best in the coming mission I would set free." He reminded him, granting the frightened soul a gracious smile, but quickly twisted it into a mocking grin. "Well it seems your partner performed so well, he actually sacrificed his life for my cause."

The warrior's face fell, and grew ashen as he stammered, "But Lord Vallus, I…"

The Dracon cut him off with a raised hand and a quick word, "Since you failed to outdo his efforts, the punishment falls to you." He sneered, enjoying the terror on the unfortunate's face as he motioned for two of his incubi to take hold of the assassin, and drag him away.

The soon to be torture victim screamed, and struggled of course, but he was no match for the enhanced strength of Vallus' bodyguards. His cries were nothing now compared to what the Haemonculi would soon draw from him, and that thought alone was enough to make the Dueling Lord chuckle to himself, before turning back to the Hierarch.

Now it was Zul's turn to arch one silver eyebrow, but he did not ask for an explanation, nor did Vallus offer one. "You were saying, Hierarch?" He made a slight bow as he followed his Lord's closest lieutenant across the hangar.

"The Lady Khirareq is besieging the fortress of the Midnight Reapers Kabal, and while she has secured a great deal of his defenses for her own use, the last reports reveal a significant amount of resistance still, and the High Archon himself is still at large.

"Fortunately, most of her troops are intact, including two troupes of Harlequins which insisted on joining shortly before the fight began."

_Now there's a surprise._ Vallus thought to himself. _Last time I saw harlequins in combat was when I was still a Sybarite under Khirareq's predecessor._ "Insisted?"

"They made a bargain, it was rather unexpected, but it will be interesting to see where this leads." The pale man drawled, pausing in front of one of the few remaining raiders left in the hangar. "I've been ordered to gather the Soul Hunter's first Aspirant squad." He went on to explain, gesturing to the warrior wybarites and wych hekatrixes waiting by the transport. "I am to lead them into battle myself."

Vallus knew that Aspirant Squads, as they were called, were fairly rare in Commorragh. They were comprised of squad leaders from the rest of the army who were then given a chance to prove themselves by undertaking exceptionally risky missions in combat. It was a way to test their loyalty and allow them to potentially earn advancement in rank. Such squads were organized for specific missions, and in other times, were simply dispersed to command their individual units.

The Dracon had never actually witnessed the formation of such a unit before, but Khirareq was just the sort of person to call on an unorthodox tactic of this nature when the situation merited it.

"So you'll be supporting me with these, and what else?" Vallus asked carefully, wondering how much of their forces formation and disposition was being left up to him, and how much the Hierarch had already chosen.

"Some warriors and wyches." Zul replied calmly, smoothing one strand of his snowy hair back behind one pointed ear. "And an anti-infantry Ravager. Most our requisition is up to you."

The Dueling Lord thought carefully, turning back and surveying the hangar, and thinking about what forces he knew he could call on, before moving away to make his choices.

It didn't take them long to get underway, Vallus sent his mandrakes ahead first, then gathered his troops and transports, and in only a few terr-pulses another sizable contingent was en-route to reinforce Khirareq's siege.

* * *

Dracon Gnarsyl found himself intrigued by some of the unusual heavy skimmers the Midnight Reapers had in their Hangars, and he would have liked to commandeer one, and see how it performed. But unfortunately, the hangar doors had been completely blocked, and the warriors he'd sent to try and clear the wreckage had been shot at by a group of securely entrenched sharp shooters somewhere outside.

Khirareq had put him in charge of taking control of the defenses of this fortress, and using them against their own. They'd been quick and efficient when they'd arrived, and had been able to capture most the base defenses largely due to the element of surprise. But things had been going against them after that, and the blockade in the hangars was only the start.

After securing the hangars he'd made his way to Archon Khroest's observatory tower, his golden hair coiled and braided around his neck to keep it out of his way during the fight, from here he could survey virtually the entire fortress, and give commands or warnings to all their armies at once.

Through the window he could see the large wing of skimmers, including Khirareq's command skiff that was their greatest asset, sweeping across the base, raining high concentrations of fire all along their path to suppress the worst of the Reapers' resistance. He couldn't see the High Archon herself on the deck of the command craft from this distance, even with the light enhancing effects of the observatory windows, which made the ever-present shadows almost imperceptible, but knew she was there as he'd been monitoring all troop movements as well as he was able.

He chuckled to himself as two of the Soul Hunters' ravens and an allied night screamer flew past the observatory; close enough to make the structure rock from the backwash of their engines. They were fighting in formation together, and so far had avoided most incoming fire. They knew to stay away from the base defense turrets, which were the only weapons available to their enemies that could readily track them and shoot them from the sky.

The enemy had retaken the barracks, but not before Gnarsyl's men had slaughtered the hapless soldiers inside, or taken them captive. He'd denied the Reapers' Archon yet more reinforcements by having his men below seal off the entrances to the armouries, where many of the Kabal's forces were now stuck until they could manage to blow themselves out without blowing themselves up.

And yet, a significant portion of Khroest's troops were still active, launching raids at strategic points within the fortress, and reclaiming key structures one at a time. After the fiasco in the Barracks Gnarsyl had instructed all his troops to make sure they had an escape route secured, so if they were overwhelmed they could fall back, rather than be slaughtered to a man like the team manning the barracks tower turret when Khroest had stormed the structure with his retinue.

Most the raiders he could see flying about were empty, and sticking together in tight formations for mutual defense. Their passengers were all mostly on the ground by now, either defending specific locations, or (in the case of the harlequins and scourges) hunting specific targets. He watched the scourges leaping between rooftops on their anti-gravity 'wings' as they approached one of the defense towers, which was trying to shoot down the Soul Hunters fighter craft.

His attention was drawn to some movement he could see along the main central corridor, which, while largely covered over by support beams, still had enough gaps for him to make out enemy troops, even if he couldn't get a good read on their numbers or disposition. He opened a psychic channel to one of his own warrior squads holding a fortification at the end of the lane, where the enemy movements seemed to be heading.

"_Sybarite Jices, I believe the enemy is approaching you from the central side of the corridor, can you confirm?"_ He asked, watching closely through the shimmering crystalline window. He'd last seen Archon Khroest leading a sizable force nearby, and thought it could be them advancing down the covered street.

"_Yes, Lord, we have already opened fire."_ The sybarite thought back. _"There seems to be a lot of them, should we fall back?"_

"_Yes, regroup with Hrien's 'Face of Flames'. Near the plasma generators."_ Almost every individual squad in most Dark Eldar armies had names. Face of Flames was the name of one of Khirareq's dark lance teams.

He quickly and efficiently opened another channel, this time to the lovely Dracon Lethis, who had just recently come in range according to the sensor feed from his psi crystal. _"Lethis, my dear, have you found your way out of the tunnels yet?"_ He asked her, lounging back against the holotable map display behind him.

"_Of course I have."_ She replied irritably, her concentration only loosely on the communication. She was probably a bit busy fighting someone wherever she was.

"_Can you clarify your position for me?"_ The Devious One continued, scanning down below through the window. He had yet to see any of hers or master Threchul's forces, and they should have been visible by now if they'd fought their way out of the escape tunnels.

"_We're still indoors. And we sent the raiders overland, since they wouldn't fit down here. Have you spotted them yet?"_

"_Yes I have."_ Gnarsyl responded quickly. _"They've joined up with some of Khirareq's forces up here along with your reavers and ravagers, and are aiding in the skirmishing effort."_

"_Well that's good to know."_ She grew silent a moment, though he felt a surge of elation course through the feed and knew that she must have dispatched whomever she'd been fighting. _"As I said, we're still indoors, but there seems to be some sort of power plant above us."_

Now _that_ was good news. Gnarsyl grinned to himself and quickly double checked the holo-map display he'd found earlier when he'd come up here. There were only two power facilities in the fortress, one main plant, and a smaller backup supply. Both were in places in which Lethis or Threchul's forces could be useful.

"_Let me know when you think you're close to the surface. You could be just in time to reinforce a trouble spot."_ He requested, cutting off the channel and turning his attention to something else he'd spotted.

He immediately opened another feed to the warrior squad stationed near the armouries as he noticed what appeared to be some explosions coming from the large structure. _"Sybarite Bareon, be on alert, the enemy may have finally broken out of the Armouries. If you encounter them, fall back to…" _He paused, looking out along the fortress to pick the proper spot, grinning to himself as he decided, _"the Command Center. You should be able to support the Harlequins in that area."_

"_Understood, Dracon."_ The reply was quick and efficient, just the way Gnarsyl liked it.

There was a lot to do, if they were going to turn this back around in their favor, but with Lethis and Threchul approaching the surface, they should be able to make a push to retake a few things, but he wondered if it would be enough to counter the new reinforcements Khroest was likely to be getting from the armouries.

At that moment, he felt a hail, and allowed Khirareq to open a channel to his psi-crystal. _"My Lady?"_

"_Are you still in the tower, Gnarsyl?"_ She asked him, succinct and direct as always.

"_Yes I am. Lethis and Threchul should be surfacing near the primary plasma generator, or the backup plant. Khroest's main forces are moving that way as well. However, I believe the enemy has broken out of the armouries by now."_ He relayed the brief status report in an instant, having prepared it a little in advance.

"_I am aware of that."_ The Queen of War replied quickly, though no hint of irritation was in her thoughts, _"I want you to intercept them, I'm sending 4 raiders and 2 ravagers to accompany you. They are now under your command."_

Her dracon smiled to himself as he responded, _"As you command, my Lady."_ He was already moving towards the lift that would take him back down the tower to join up with his warrior retinue as she cut off the communication. He hoped 4 raiders and 2 ravagers would be enough to suppress the enemy forces fighting their way out of the armouries, no doubt with an abundance of extra weapons.

It didn't take long for him to relay the new orders to his retinue, or organize the tactics of the rest of the units assigned to him. Telepathic relays were very useful, considering how much faster thought was than speech.

It turned out only one of the raiders was actually occupied, and he quickly divided his own retinue into two squads to ride with the remaining raiders; one he led himself, and the other was led by his personal sybarite.

The complex was large enough, that he could see the far walls in either direction from the vantage point of his anti-grav transport. Each angled a little towards him thanks to the arched gravity in the webway tunnel's sloped walls. His path would take him past the central corridor, where he could take a look at how the fight in that area was going as they flew overhead then close to one of the walls near the main gates since, apparently, Khroest liked to store his weapons near the primary point of exit.

He ordered the skimmers under his command to swoop low, and circle the armouries, on the lookout for anyone who'd made it outside already. Scattered shots were fired as they passed a gaping breach in one wall, but quickly ceased as they passed again out of sight. He'd spotted several dozen warriors through the opening, more than a few carrying heavy weapons.

"_As we come back around for another pass, I want the ravagers to move a little closer, and lower, draw their fire and disintegrate as many of them as you can. I want all raiders to target the upper levels with their dark lances, bring that building down on top of them if possible."_ A series of quick acknowledgements followed through their psychic feeds, so all were ready when they came back around for their second pass.

The enemy was ready for them; heavy weapons braced in as much cover as was available to open fire. Several dark lance beams cut the air, as well as some sizzling bolts of dark matter from a pair of disruptor cannons, a potent cousin to the disintegrator.

One ravager was hit, and wavered, but managed to stay in the air, the pilot pulling up out of the way of nearby obstacles. The armoury structure shuddered as it was pierced by half a dozen lance shots. The groan of cracking ferrocrete and the sifting of dust gave only a few seconds warning to the warriors on the ground before the building began to collapse on this side, crushing a very satisfying number of their foes.

"_Excellent work, but don't let up, while they're still disoriented, close to rifle range and open fire!"_ The Great Widower was very pleased so far, as the craft of his wing maneuvered in concert, providing cover for the injured ravager and allowing the warriors on the 4 raiders to pick off the last of the enemy as they scrambled for their lives.

One lucky enemy scored a hit on one raider with the runes for "cold wind" painted on the prow, and its engines failed, dropping it to the ground. The passengers seemed to be intact, and the gunner even had the presence of mind to blast one more heart from the chest of one of the Reapers with his dark lance.

_That individual may just deserve a reward of some kind_, Gnarsyl thought to himself, as he watched the last of their prey fall to splinter fire.

He quickly re-opened the channel to his Lady to give his report. _"Khirareq, my queen, the armoury has been forcibly re-sealed, and all exsurgents eliminated. One raider has lost engines, and a ravager needs a new paint job. But I have no other losses to report."_ If there was one thing Khirareq could count on him for, it was to preserve her assets better than any of her other lieutenants. He prided himself on being efficient, and careful.

"_Excellent news, Devious One. See if you can capture any other warriors that try to break out. We'll want slaves and equipment after this to recuperate our losses."_ Her reply was as expected, and while Gnarsyl wasn't very big on taking slaves; he certainly understood the value of it. They could bargain with any captured enemies for new soldiers, or turn them into forced labor.

The problem was, taking slaves meant getting closer than he was usually comfortable with. Which inevitably meant higher risk, more mistakes, and greater casualties. It was a fine balance between caution and reward.

But that didn't mean he didn't have some ideas how to capture the requested prisoners without compromising his tactics too much. In the mean time, he had a chance to go over the information feed he was still receiving, though it wasn't as detailed as if he could watch the battle from the observatory, and see if he couldn't offer tactical advice which would benefit their efforts further.

By this point, Dracon Lethis and Master Haemonculus Threchul had made their way to the surface and were engaging Khroest's main forces near the plasma generators. Khirareq was taking this opportunity to hunt down and exterminate the enemy's remaining skimmers roaming cautiously around the perimeter of the base, her own fleet of skimmers moving as a group to bring superior firepower to bear on the scattered wings of skirmisher craft.

Things were going well, but he wasn't sure it was enough. Khroest was overrunning the Dracon and Haemonculus, and the High Archon was meeting significant resistance, her efforts taking too much time for her to be able to come to their aid.

He was drawn from his musings by a sound nearby, a bit of rubble settling or falling. Quickly he had his craft triangulate the sound, and located where the enemy was digging their way out of the armouries.

His troops opened fire at point blank range as he came in low, before the warriors beneath could properly organize. At this distance the raiders would not be able to maneuver out of the way of heavy weapons fire easily, but at the same time, they could take down their targets with splinter weaponry, instead of disintegrators and dark lances, letting the toxic crystal shards paralyze and cripple their foes without killing them. In this way they could preserve more potential slaves.

Once those near the surface were mown down, he personally led his troops on foot, to take the fight inside the passage opening they'd provided, and round up whoever was left.

* * *

_It was a near thing._ Vallus thought to himself. The Dracon had arrived with his forces just in time to 'rescue' Lethis and Threchul from their enemies. Threchul he was certain would have made it out alive, but Lethis now owed him her life. Another Dracon with almost as much influence as the Dueling Lord himself, was indebted to him, and he would not soon let her forget it.

He and Zul had reviewed a summarized battle report given to them by Khirareq's Skiff Commander on their way in together. Discussing possible options before they flew over the outer wall, and down the central corridor. On his jetbike, Vallus had led the charge, right into the rear of the surprised enemy forces.

He'd brought a razorwing, a heavy bomber class space fighter that, while not as maneuverable as a raven, was devastating against ground targets. Energy laced webs of monofilament mesh had descended on skimmers and warriors alike, igniting into a brilliant lattice of tiny stars, burning through hulls and armour and disabling many of their opponents.

Then Vallus himself had hit the rearguard lines, slicing off a head with his dueling glaive as the blades on his jetbike ended two more lives at his breakneck pace. As he laid into the forces on either side of him, his momentum slowing considerably, two raiders, firing lance salvos at the heavy skimmers still fighting after the razorwing's pass, slowed and turned enough for Zul and his aspirants to disembark alongside a full squad of Syren Shiroq's wyches.

Between the three units (Vallus, the wyches, and Zul's aspirants) they began swiftly slaughtering Khroest's forces, only to withdraw into buildings, alleys, and alcoves along the street as Khroest turned his guns to open fire on them.

That was when Vallus gave his signal, and Khroest's personal retinue was ambushed by mandrakes, who'd infiltrated ahead for just that purpose. Then at a second signal, while their enemies were still a bit disoriented, a full wing of kabal warriors on reaver jetbikes moved into position alongside a single ravager and let loose on the enemy. Disintegrator cannons from the ravager demolished any infantry in the open, while the wraithbone splinters fired from the bikes sought out their targets even around corners, decimating squads in cover as if the barriers weren't even there.

Finally, Vallus' entire force pulled back as the razorwing came around for a second pass, leveling the final heavy skimmer Khroest had brought to bear. Now they were back in the streets, moving away from the plasma generators, and leading Khroest on a merry chase, to give Death's Shadow, and Khirareq's head torturer some breathing room.

Vallus hoped some of his mandrakes, useful creatures that they were, had survived the assault, but he rather doubted it. They were too bloodthirsty to give up even when they were overmatched. Still, they'd served their purpose, providing a distraction at the perfect moment so that his attack plan could be pulled off flawlessly.

While there was a momentary lull in the fighting he activated a close range mental channel to speak to his Archon. _"We are arrived, Lady Khirareq, as you no doubt already knew. But what you may not yet know is that my pincer attack went very smoothly. I have destroyed all of the skimmers Khroest had with him, including both his heavy siege craft. I've weakened his personal retinue, at least a little, and slaughtered several of his support units. He is pursuing me as we speak, which should allow Lethis and Threchul to regroup and maneuver for a renewed offensive."_

His report, while detailed, was quick. Mental communication always was. It was one of the reasons the Eldar were so much better in combat than their enemies, their coordination matched possibly only by the brood telepathy of the Tyranid Hive Fleets, or whatever eldritch technology the silent Necrons used to communicate.

"_Excellent!"_ Khirareq's mental voice practically purred with pleasure, _"We will make a general of you yet, Vallus. Keep me informed."_ That was it. No additional orders, just keep her informed.

The Dracon could not resist the lusty grin that overcame his face, grateful that the mask of his helm concealed it. She was well pleased, and was confident enough to let him plan his own strategy for this fight. A _general_ she'd said. That, to him, had to be a good sign.

He concentrated on the fight at hand, keeping his forces a few steps ahead of Khroest's. Khirareq was still trying to hunt down what was left of the enemy's skirmishers, and that task seemed to be going well, but stubbornly. The enemy was playing a cowards game, retreating constantly rather than committing their forces. It was preserving their lives for now, and preventing the High Archon from joining her Dracons against the enemy leader.

The Dueling Lord was just settling into another fighting position well within cover after pulling back yet again, when he saw Lethis and Threchul launch a pincer attack together from a side street. He tried to open a channel to the master Haemonculus to warn him Khroest looked to be prepared, but it was already too late.

The enemy's heavy weapons turned to blast apart Threchul's Talos before it could even close the short distance between the corner and the Archon's nearest forces, leaving a spasming wreck slumping down to the street to serve as cover for the Haemonculi and their wracks from the incoming fire around them.

Lethis' warriors took some losses a well, but they pulled back quickly, leaving their Lady Dracon to help Threchul's creations cover his retreat. Khroest did not pursue them either; he knew Vallus and his minions were the greater threat at present.

Vallus redoubled his efforts, moving back a little ahead of his raiders and jetbikes to take stock of the situation. He pulled his jetbike alongside the raider Zul and his aspirants rode on, "I think we will not be able to keep this up much longer. We've taken a few losses, but we're going to be forced into a corner eventually, or we'll simply have to retreat to the air and let any forces that have lost their transports fend for themselves."

The Hierach considered his words carefully as his sybarites and Hekatrixes continued lining up shots with their weapons, firing off their valuable ammunition with care and precision. "Do you have an alternative plan, Dueling Lord?" He asked him simply, obviously interested in whatever he had in mind.

"I do." Vallus replied, with yet another hidden grin. He quickly outlined his plan to the Hierarch, then watched as his raider turned and sped away, hopefully not drawing the enemy's attention too much as the Dracon turned to issue orders to his remaining troops.

Zul was going to find Khirareq's harlequins, and bring them along with his aspirants for a surprise assault. Khroest was on the lookout for such surprise attacks, but Vallus' hoped the danser troupe would still be enough of a surprise to gain significant advantage in this match.

In the meantime, he had his forces disembark from their transports after turning down a side alley. Warriors on foot would hold the defensive dead end against Khroest's forces, not giving any ground without making the enemy pay for it. The wyches would provide much needed backup should things get to close. Their skill in close combat would serve them well in that regard.

Vallus took the remaining vehicles, and bikes, up to the roof of a nearby building, waiting until Khroest's forces began to engage his ground troops before coming over the edge into the main street.

He had two emptied raiders lead the charge, only a single gunner and a pilot in each, with Vallus following closely behind on his jetbike, along with the other raiders. His ravager heavy weapons craft, and squadron of soul reaver jetbikes took up a position near the corner of the roof to rain fire down on the enemy from above.

Shots rang around them, splinters ricocheting harmlessly off the raiders in front, but shortly several black beams pierced their hulls, along with other heavier weapons fire, shredding them as the pilots leapt free, the vehicles smashing into the enemy formations and taking out a number of warriors in the process.

Vallus continued past their smoking corpses, banking up hard on his jetbike's controls. His exhaust blasted over the heads of yet more warriors as he stood up on the seat, his eyes locked on his targets. Archon Khroest saw him coming, and stood in place as the Dueling Lord leapt free, his bike crashing into the ground as he flew through the air, spinning once fully around, and swinging his heavy two-handed glaive in a spiraling arc that severed two helmeted heads, and three armoured limbs from the warriors of Khroest's retinue.

Vallus' momentum brought him face to face with the leader of the Midnight Reapers Kabal, and immediately a flurry of sparks resounded from their weapons clashing against one another. He managed to push the older eldar back several paces before the Archon took the upper hand.

Vallus was very skilled, he knew that; but Khroest had centuries more experience than him. His dueling glaive gave him an advantage in power, but Khroest's weapons were swift, and the triple blades of each were elegantly designed to make it easy to catch an opponent's weapon between them, even break it if the Archon had the right leverage.

A raider swooped low above them, close enough for Vallus' incubi bodyguards to leap free into the mass of more lightly armoured kabalites beneath. Their glowing pole arms cutting down body after screaming body without mercy, and without pause. Panic began to set in, as Khroest's sybarites tried to rally their forces against this threat. But most their weapons could barely scratch the powered armour the silent guardians wore, and it was only a matter of time before they reached Vallus to aid his efforts against the Archon and his retinue.

He had to be careful, not only because of the twin agoniser blades Khroest kept trying to slip past his guard, but also because of the warriors and lone sybarite of his retinue who fought to protect their lord. Vallus was good enough to take them all on together, but if he distracted himself long enough to finish the remaining combatants off, he would no doubt fall prey to Khroest's agoniser in his back.

His breathing increased with every parried blow, every clash of glowing shock field against his opponent's. Every step was so carefully planned in every moment that Vallus did a brief double take when an unknown warrior moved up behind the Reapers' Archon along with a full unit of warriors whose armour coloring was mismatched, and completely unfamiliar.

Vallus' braced himself to take on yet another opponent, but was surprised when Khroest did the same. Apparently this new figure was none of his either. A momentary pause fell between the three of them, before the helmeted figure leading these new warriors launched himself forwards at Lord Khroest. In one hand he carried an unusual pistol with twin barrels and an expanded ammunition core. The other was sheathed in a scissor gauntlet, each blade wrapped in a shimmering shock field.

He lunged forwards in an attempt to spear the archon's torso with several of his finger-like blades, and Vallus joined back in as well. He was surprised and wary, but not so foolish as to not take advantage of this sudden unexpected ally. He would not turn his back to him, certainly, but in the meantime, his own glaive met Khroest's off hand weapon, as the newcomer's energized blade hand met the other.

A quick series of blows pushed the Archon back, as the newly arrived warriors in rugged battleworn armour engaged what was left of Khroest's retinue freeing them of distractions. Against the two of them, their enemy was forced on the defensive, until his back was to the wall of a nearby building. One jarring blow from the Dueling Lord's glaive sent one of the Archon's agonisers skittering to the ground, sparking off the stone underfoot, as Vallus grabbed his remaining sword hand, and smashed it up against the wall.

His unknown ally wrapped one hand around Khroest's throat and held his 'scissor-hand' agoniser in front of the Archon's face, readying for the killing blow, but Vallus stopped him. "Do not kill him." He growled, as all movement ceased around them. Those warriors of the Midnight Reapers still alive waited with baited anticipation to witness the fate of their lord. They followed him, out of fear and ambition, but if he fell they would not want to waste their lives continuing the fight. The True Kin were nothing if not mercenary.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" The Dracon demanded, as the mysterious warrior drew back a pace.

"I also would be very interested in the answer to that question, seeing as it appears I am to be left alive… for now." Khroest's voice betrayed little hint of pain, or exhaustion as he regarded the adversaries who had brought him low.

Vallus' unexpected ally wrenched off his own helmet, revealing a face scarred not so much from battle, but in an almost deliberate pattern, perhaps the work of a torturer. His grin did not improve his appearance, but did betray his enjoyment of the fight and their uncertainty and discomfort over his actions and identity. "I am Dracon Kelnar, the Lost Paingiver." He began, "My master sent me here to aid the High Archon Khirareq, knowing that her enemy would give her more trouble than she'd care for."

Vallus frowned, looking over the man's well-worn armour. The coloring was so faded it was hard to make out, even at this close range. "To what Kabal do you belong?" He asked, letting a dangerous note creep into his voice. He kept Khroest pinned with one hand, but his dueling glaive was held between the Archon and this Kelnar, ready to strike at either of them should they provoke his reaction.

"Not a Kabal." Kelnar replied evenly, "I belong to the Whisperers Enclave. I have a message for Khirareq. If this battle is finished, perhaps you will let me deliver it?" He raised one imperfect eyebrow above an eye with a scar that looked to have almost taken his sight when it was given to him.

Vallus merely nodded. An Enclave meant he was an outcast, and probably had not set foot in the dark city for a long time. He'd taken quite a risk coming here, his message must be important.

It wasn't long before Zul came swiftly around the corner aboard his raider followed by two other transports with the Harlequins on board. Most of the remaining enemy surrendered, and were bound along with their master as captives.

Hopefully when the skirmishers still stalling Khirareq heard of the fall of their leader they too would surrender. But Vallus' part was done for now, as he reported his victory to Khirareq and kept a watchful eye on Kelnar and his warriors.

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the seventh chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the harlequins in this and other chapters.


	8. Danse of Victory

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 8: Danse of Victory**

Chapter Summary: The battle is won, but there is much to be done before Khirareq or her lieutenants may rest and enjoy their rewards.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts. No Adult situations, no cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

Khroest's throne room was rather spacious, with enough room in the hall for a hundred of his warriors to gather, and more room on the balconies around three sides for twice that number to sit in audience. The waiting rooms could hold many slaves or prisoners as well, and that was exactly what they were being used for as Khirareq sat languidly on her defeated opponent's seat of office while the Midnight Reaper's Archon knelt at the foot of the dais looking up at her with icy cold eyes.

Two dozen steps, and as many Incubi, stood between them, eerie in their black armour and white skull masks, the gentle glow of their punishers reflected off the blue marble of the dais and the throne against the wall. While Khroest was resigned to his capture, Vallus, standing behind the fallen Archon with his own incubi guarding this most prized prisoner, still had to wonder about his fate. Khirareq had not yet told anyone what she planned to do with him, if she was even going to let him live.

"Are there any Reapers left unaccounted for?" Khirareq spoke, disrupting the silence which had fallen about the hall for the last several terr-pulses. She shifted, leaning forwards a bit as all attention was turned to her.

"There are no more pockets of resistance, all the survivors have been captured, relieved of their weapons and brought here for your judgment, Lord Archon." Gnarsyl had eagerly overseen the logistical nightmare that had been tallying and tracking the entire enemy force, including their slaves, and their allies. Vallus did not envy him the task, but had to admit the well groomed Dracon, who he suspected had found time to clean himself somewhat between the end of the siege and when he'd arrived in the audience room, was well suited to it.

Even the Haemonculi of the Death Watcher's coven had been brought here, though they had not participated in the battle itself, they almost certainly would have if Shiroq had not infiltrated their facility and captured them before they could activate their war machines. They clustered around the Master Haemonculus, who was himself quite a sight to behold. With numerous augmentations, and implants, and dominated by the four spider-like legs grafted to his lower back, each tipped with vicious claws, he was a rather frightening figure. Even more so that he was a renowned master of the torture arts.

"Then it is time to proceed." High Archon Khirareq intoned, standing from Khroest's throne. She descended the first few steps gracefully, with Zul hovering a little behind her, just out of easy reach. She paused briefly in front of the fallen Archon, still kneeling on the hard floor, kept there by the Incubi flanking his position. But then she circled him, ignoring him for the time being. She seemed to be basking in his prolonged discomfort.

"First, Vallus, tell me of these warriors you have brought to seek audience with me." Kelnar and his servants were in one of the waiting rooms, and had not yet been allowed directly into Khirareq's presence. Vallus noted that Zul's attention never wavered from their prisoner.

"Of course." Vallus bowed deeply, with a distinct flourish before continuing, "As I told you they aided me in capturing Archon Khroest. They are outcasts, part of an enclave within the Darkways. They wish to speak with you on behalf of their master, a man named Malfes. I do not know more than that, however they were instrumental in an important strategic accomplishment. This siege may well have lasted longer without them, though it's also possible I could have effected Khroest's capture on my own or with Zul's reinforcements soon after Kelnar and his men intervened."

"So you believe we owe them gratitude?" She asked softly, one eyebrow delicately arched.

"We owe them nothing." He responded quickly, a little affronted by the idea, "But they may yet have more to offer. I feel it would be prudent to at least hear them out."

"I agree. But it would not do to appear too eager. Let us resolve some of the other more important matters first." Khirareq turned back to survey the room, then gestured with her still intact hand for Shiroq to bring her captives forward, her wraithbone appendage held just below the small of her back.

Her wyches prodded the Haemonculi, most of whom did not even flinch, they were nearly as inured to conventional pain as most of their victims and experiments. Master Haemonculus Horacier rose several spans on his artificial spider limbs, clacking with his movements. His face was a mask of articulated plates where his skin should have been, moving with his expression as he faced down Khirareq without fear or even apparent concern.

He was very proud, and very obviously annoyed at how easily and quickly Shiroq and her wyches had subdued him before he could enter the fight to collect the reward the High Archon Khroest had offered him. He was an imposing figure, standing nearly twice the height of the Soul Hunters' Archon with the augmentation of his artificial limbs.

"Do you intend to kill us?" He asked boldly, his glare fixed on the High Archon's frame.

"I have not decided yet." She said simply, "I am interested in the Death Watchers, and I believe the Soul Hunters could greatly benefit from an alliance, and an exchange."

Shiroq fidgeted as this Ancient Haemonculus, almost more machine than man, stood his ground against her mother. Khirareq was powerful, and experienced, but next to him she was still a child. Even Khroest had not seen as many years as Horacier.

"I am always interested in exchanges, not so much in alliances, a lesson Khroest apparently learned too late." He said, chuckling with his rasping voice. "What sort of exchange does the Lady Khirareq desire?"

"Resources. You have a few things I desire, and I have many things you require." Khirareq replied, moving back towards the dais and taking a seat on the throne, her eyes now level with the Master Haemonculus. "You need slaves, and materials for your experiments. I need warriors, and weapons. The Death Watchers have facilities for producing death hunter heavy skimmers. I want to purchase these from you, individually or in bulk. I will not ask you to work with my own Haemonculi, but in exchange for your lives, and the slaves I will steadily supply you with as payment, I wish for you to supply me and my armies with those things the Keepers of Darkness cannot. Is this an agreeable arrangement?"

Vallus had to admire them both. Khirareq had Horacier at her mercy, and yet the Master Haemonculus did not fear her. He did not fear death, or torture, or any other fate she could inflict on him. She had no hold on him, and they both knew that. So she appealed to his greed instead. Like many Haemonculi, he desired to spend as much time as possible with his experiments, and would ignore lesser concerns when he was able. By offering such a generous reward for his services she was in truth offering him a freedom from such distractions as logistics and supplies. The Soul Hunters could see to that, and the Master Haemonculus could concentrate more of his attentions on his subjects.

"You are a clever bargainer, Lady Khirareq." Horacier finally replied, "I admit I am surprised, and pleased by how things have turned out. And I am willing to agree to your terms. The exact costs can be discussed later, am I free to take my leave now?"

"You may. However, I will keep you under guard until the proceedings here are finished."

"A reasonable requirement." He made a slight bow, mostly lowering his head, but it was enough. Khirareq dismissed him and his apprentices so she could turn her attention to other matters. They were somewhat vulnerable here, outside their own fortress, if Horacier mustered a force and took the offensive he could do significant damage. So it was best to keep an eye on him until they could return to their tower.

Vallus caught Khirareq glancing to the balcony where the Harlequins sat, or rather posed, waiting for some event the rest of them knew nothing about, as of yet. It was a very odd reversal. They were spectators, watching the drama of Khirareq's conquest unfold, rather than the ones performing, though they were pantomiming some of the events below in a silent comedy, mocking them, in a way, though not to the point of offending them.

The troupe master took on the role of Khirareq, lounging with that unmistakable demeanor of careless dominance in one of the seats a bit higher than the others.

The death jesters knelt, their masks wearing expressions of exaggerated defeat and sorrow, their arms behind their backs as if bound. They were the captives in this little drama, apparently.

The mimes were taking on the visage of whoever was being addressed, their movements exaggerated, and almost comical, but still capturing the mannerisms of many of those in the hall quite well.

The rest of the troupe sat, or knelt, wearing expressions of interest, and satisfaction, the rest of Khirareq's lesser minions and allies enjoying the show.

The Dueling Lord wondered if perhaps they were using this experience to compose a new Danse; though if that were the case he would have to wonder whether these events were far more momentous than any of them knew. Harlequins had a sense about such things. Were they making history right here, right now?

"Gnarsyl, you are next." The High Archon intoned. "I have your full report on the events of the battle, now I wish to hear what you left out."

"Left out, milady?" He asked, his expression a bit startled, "I assure you, nothing has been…"

"I'm not talking about technical details and statistics; I want to know your thoughts. Are you satisfied with the outcome, with the performance of your peers?"

Gnarsyl flinched slightly at the word 'peers', glancing first towards Dracon Vallus, and then to Dracon Lethis. "Lord Archon, Vallus performed quite exemplarily, turning the tide of a battle which could have dragged on for some time to come. Threchul likewise was instrumental to our success, particularly with the swift capture of the Arena Fortress of the Cult of Despair. Lethis, as I understand it, fought well, but I did not see or hear of her exploits being of particular significance to our cause."

"How dare you!" Lethis stood, furious, but was stopped from approaching Gnarsyl by a pair of Incubi, whose unwavering gaze forced her to blanch and stumble back a pace.

"Interesting." Khirareq smiled, "Vallus, do you agree with Gnarsyl's assessment of Lethis' performance?"

"I do, Archon Khirareq. I personally witnessed her launch an ineffectual attack against Archon Khroest's forces. She and her warriors fought well, but could have fought better."

Master Haemonculus Threchul cleared his throat. Eyes throughout the room turning to look at his grinning visage, after a moment when no one spoke, he did it again.

"If you have something to say, Threchul, by all means say it." Khirareq said, a bit annoyed by the interruption.

"I would not presume to speak out of turn, Lady." Threchul said simply.

"I just offered you your turn, Haemonculus." She retorted quickly.

"So I see. If I may offer, neither Vallus nor Gnarsyl, for all their skills and sources of intelligence, fought alongside Lethis. Neither saw her in combat, so neither know some of the key contributions she gave.

"The sneak attack Vallus spoke of was orchestrated by Lethis and myself, and it failed not due to any fault of the Lady Dracon's, but due to Khroest's cunning. It was perhaps not the most original plan, and we should have anticipated Khroest counter, but we were simply trying to aid and support Vallus' momentum, and in truth, I believe we succeeded, in a sense. The Dueling Lord gained some breathing room when Khroest turned his attention to us. And for all that our attack failed, we lost only a single Talos, and a handful of warriors between us. Not significant or irreplaceable losses by any stretch."

Vallus was impressed, Threchul was not known for his tactical acumen in the field, yet he had definitely grasped aspects of the situation Vallus had missed. Thought on terms the Dueling Lord had not considered.

"Dracon Lethis." Khirareq addressed the young Dracon turning her full attention towards her, her violet eyes pinning her to the spot.

"Yes my queen." Lethis fell immediately to one knee, lowering her head in a deep submissive bow. She knew her fate could be hanging in the balance here. It could not hurt to remind Khirareq of her fealty, and try to please her in this small thing.

"You are not to be punished at this time, you have earned no disfavor, but I would like you to consider the fact that you have failed to please me. In the future, it will require more than simply earning no displeasure should you wish to increase your status; you must actively please me, and further my goals. Is that understood?"

"Explicitly." Lethis intoned, grinding her teeth in frustration. Then looking up, her own eyes glinting as a thought occurred to her, something she could offer her mistress, "If I may, Archon, I have a gift I would like to present to you."

A murmur went through the assembled warriors as Khirareq held a hand to call for silence, Vallus spotted the troupe master above affecting a similar pose, though far more haughty and aggrandized, "You may, Lethis, you've sparked my curiosity." the Queen of War continued once the room quieted.

Lethis smiled, and stood, motioning towards a pair of her sybarites near the entrance behind her beneath the balcony where the harlequins performed. They disappeared through the double doors, opening and closing on silent motors, then reappeared dragging a partially armoured figure between them. He looked drugged, or poisoned, and an array of tiny lacerations all across his bared torso spoke of the toxins delivered by splinter weaponry.

Archon Khroest stirred when he saw him, obviously recognizing the Eldar, but holding his tongue for the moment. "My Lady, High Archon, Khirareq, I present the enemy's right hand, Hierarch Raphessdon." With a light shove she sent the man sprawling rather ungracefully to his knees. He was strong, and would survive the wounds and the poisons from the splinter cannon, but he would be sick a while yet from their effects.

"Hierarch's are notoriously difficult to capture alive." Zul's silver tongued whisper was just loud enough for Vallus to hear him from where he stood, several paces away. Lethis, and Khirareq also both heard it well enough.

"Indeed they are. I am pleased Lethis, this was an unexpected surprise." She rose once more, and moved down to the floor to stand before Raphessdon, though not so close that her incubi could not protect her if he had anything treacherous in mind. "You are Khroest's Hierarch?"

"I am, Queen of War, and I know everything about you." His gaze met hers, his eyes unclouded by the obvious pain and discomfort from the debilitating drugs. His body might be weak, but that did not mean his mind was slowed.

"I know a great deal about you as well, I must admit I am surprised Lethis was able to best you, your reputation would suggest you are above her caliber." She circled him, inspecting him from all angles, "But then, perhaps you never received the opportunity to engage her directly. Your wounds are from splinter weapons, and you show the symptoms of debilitating poisons, I believe I understand better now how you were defeated, and captured."

"Perhaps you should grant me the opportunity of a rematch, I would give you a show unlike any you have seen in quite some time." He said with a smirk.

"I may just give you that opportunity." She replied, enjoying the startled expression on his face as evidenced by the quirk of her graceful lips. "But that is a matter for another time. Do I dare give you the offer to serve me, knowing that you were Khroest's closest confidante? That is the question that concerns me now."

"You accuse me of loyalty?" He scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he watched her circle him. "I was Khroest's confidante, but I will not die for a defeated and dethroned Archon. You may not trust me, but do not assume I feel I owe him anything more than I have already given him."

"As I expected." Khirareq smirked at him, "But a lack of loyalty does not mean you intend me no treachery. I may give you a chance to prove yourself, but for now, you will be locked away securely." She paused, and turned to face Lethis. "Have him taken to my personal slave pens back at the fortress; I will deal with him later."

Raphessdon did not struggle as he was led away by Lethis' warriors and one of her sybarites, and Khirareq immediately turned her attention to the next concern on her agenda.

"Lethis, you and Threchul captured the High Succubus Dometerr, correct?"

"Yes, Lady Khirareq, he was personally leading the forces defending the cult's arena, as the Hierarch tried to get much of their forces through the escape tunnels."

"Then bring him forth, we shall see if he will be better suited as a slave, or if perhaps we can bargain for his services." She instructed, and shortly Lethis' Sybarites returned with another of her prisoners.

The High Succubus was powerfully built, with a strong frame criss-crossed with countless scars, and a few new injuries as well. It had taken quite a struggle to bring him down, though Threchul and Lethis had been careful to engage him at range. He bore signs of melee weapon wounds, however, as his speed in his drugged state had enabled him to close the distance before he'd been disabled.

"I have nothing to say to you, Archon." He spat, as the warriors flanking him forced him to his knees.

"I believe you have much to say to me." Khirareq countered, moving closer and examining him. "You are a powerful warrior, respected among the arenas. And I am in need of powerful warriors. If you play your cards right you could earn a place among my armies, and that would not be such a bad thing, would it?" She chuckled to herself, finding his defiance humorous after his obvious defeat. He was stubborn and proud, the entire set of his face and stance said as much, and wasn't used to being in a position like this.

"I won't bargain with you." He retorted, relaxing just a little in the grips of his captors.

Without warning, there was a flurry of movement. A knife drawn from some concealed sheath slashed the throat of one of the warriors flanking the Succubus, the other stumbling back from a lightning fast kick from the strong warrior. Vallus and Shiroq both had time to move forwards a mere two paces before the assassin ducked past Khirareq's incubi to slash at the Archon herself.

The scream of metal shattering echoed as the broken knife went flying, and the proud Wych Lord was slammed bodily to the ground, his lips flecked with blood as his opponent's wraithbone claws dug into his back. He was fast, faster than Vallus had ever seen, yet she'd pinned him easily face first against the smooth stone.

He struggled, but was no match for the Queen of War. Vallus glanced briefly up at the gallery to note that the Harlequins had paused their mimicry perhaps just as startled as the rest of them in that brief moment. They very quickly resumed, as if they'd never stopped at all, but Vallus at least had seen… something, he wasn't entirely sure.

"Unwise, Succubus." Khirareq hissed, drawing a grunt of pain as her claws scored his back deeper, the blood running in little rivulets down his side. "Or should I say, slave. You are a succubus no longer, and never will be again, but you will provide me with some amusement, before you die, painfully.

Her bodyguards stood in a loose circle around her and her restrained attacker, they had barely moved. They had realized quickly how this match would end, and that their services had not been needed.

With a jerk Khirareq pulled Dometerr to his feet, shoving him into one Incubi who caught him and restrained him without a whisper of sound, binding his hands with a neurocord. An insidious device made of psychically sensitive fiber bundles. A crystal built into the restraints could emit a debilitating shock through the cables around his wrists which would go straight into his nervous system to deliver excruciating pain for one intense moment.

"Take him away." Khirareq instructed. "He has forsaken his opportunity, and will be made an example." She stood calmly, none of the restrained anger from a moment before showed on her expression as she faced down her momentary adversary.

"You've made a mistake, Queen of War, and you will suffer for it, mark my words!" He shouted as he was dragged off. His words echoed for a long moment before silence descended once again.

"Power is a heady thing." Khirareq murmured, half to herself. "Foolish to let one's pride destroy you though." She turned and surveyed the room, then smiled slightly when her gaze focused on Khroest. She cleaned the blood and bits of flesh from her taloned fingers with a cloth she produced from a satchel at her waist.

"Vallus, I'm ready to talk to your 'guests' now, do bring them in." She spoke directly to him while examining her wraithbone hand to make sure it was pristine.

Vallus motioned for one of his own sybarites near another door, who disappeared and returned with Kelnar and a few of his men, flanked by a few of the Dueling Lord's personal incubi. Unlike the others Khirareq had spoken to already, these were not restrained in any way.

When Kelnar approached as close as he was comfortable, with Khirareq's Incubi guarding a small circle around her, he knelt and bowed his head in a submissive pose. He wanted to make it very clear he had no hostile intentions whatsoever.

"My Lady Khirareq, I have heard much of you, they call you the Queen of War, and I have seen your exploits in that arena, and know the title is deserving." He began, causing the Archon to raise one arched eyebrow. She tended to discourage such flowery displays among her own people, but she could still tolerate it in someone less familiar with their ways.

"My Dracon tells me you are called Kelnar, of the Whisperers Enclave. It must have been an important task, for an outcast to risk coming back to the dark city. So tell me, what brings you to Commorragh?"

"You do, Archon. You, and the Soul Hunters." Kelnar replied quickly, and if Khirareq was startled, she showed no sign of it. "My Lord Malfes wishes to aid you. And by doing so, earn the possibility of returning to Commorragh."

"He offers aid?" Khirareq responded. "What sort of aid, and what exactly does he expect in return? You are outcasts, so if you wish to associate with me and mine, I need to know **exactly** why you were expelled in the first place. If I accept your offer I could very well be bringing more trouble on my own head than I have any desire to bother with."

"I cannot speak for everyone." Kelnar hurriedly explained, "I myself was once a Haemonculus, but I displeased my patron, and ran rather than face his wrath. Now I am a Dracon, and what I know about my master, Malfes, is that he is powerful. And that power is rightly feared. He is like a warlock, or seer, and yet there is more to his power than that. He believes that you would find his powers useful, on the battlefield and off. He also believes you, among all the Kabals, might just set aside any preconceptions, and figure out a way to use him. He desires patronage, so he may return to Commorragh, and stop living as an outcast for his ambitions. He has great ambitions, and the power to fulfill many of them, but his talents are wasted in the darkways."

There was a murmur that went throughout the room, as sybarites and wyches and even the harlequins discussed this rather unusual circumstance. All Eldar were psionic, to some degree, but few of the true kin practiced openly. Artificers who could craft all manner of arcane objects were highly prized, but a battle psyker? That was something else altogether.

Still, if Vallus knew anything about Khirareq, he knew she was always looking for new toys, new weapons, and new opportunities to exploit on the battlefield. A more cautious Archon would have turned Kelnar away by now, but this Malfes had chosen his hand carefully. The Queen of War was very seriously considering this offer.

"I know little about this Malfes, except what you have told me." She said at last. "I will agree to consult with you, and perhaps arrange for a demonstration. Anything more will have to wait until we know more of each other. I assume you have a method by which I may contact you and your master readied?"

"Indeed." He withdrew a psi-crystal from a satchel at his waist, and held it up for one of her incubi to take. "This is keyed to an identical crystal within Malfes' fortress. It is untraceable, and secure. Is this satisfactory, milady?"

The incubi handed the crystal to Khirareq, and she examined it briefly before nodding, "It is indeed. Tell…" She paused, wondering what Malfes' title was.

"Archuleth Malfes." Kelnar supplied.

"Archuleth Malfes." She repeated, testing the word on her tongue, "That he will be hearing from me soon."

The word archuleth was unknown to Vallus. Though from the sound of it, it derived from the word arche, which meant 'one to which fealty is sworn'. Beyond that he could not say.

Kelnar bowed once again, and turned, leading his men out the way they'd come, and Khirareq wasted no time in readying the next business. Khroest was trying not to appear uncomfortable or impatient, but Khirareq practically ignoring him had to be irksome.

"Let's see the prisoners we have captured." Khirareq informed them all. "We will give each of them the opportunity to serve us, in whatever fashion they would choose." Not that it was much of a choice. They would become warriors, on the bottom rungs of the Soul Hunters' ranks, or they would 'serve' as entertainment, or slaves.

The first groups that were brought in were warriors from the Midnight Reapers themselves. They'd suffered great casualties, but of those that were left alive, most saw the 'choice' for what it was, and surrendered their services to become soldiers for Khirareq's armies.

After a dozen groups had passed through, Khirareq called a pause to the train of 'supplicants', to address another issue. "We are receiving quite an influx." She said at first, regarding everyone in the room. "Our numbers will easily swell beyond what we had before this day. And we will require additional measures to maintain rulership of them all."

Vallus wondered what she was getting at, and felt a little apprehensive at the implications of her additional 'measures'.

"This is why I have chosen to offer a few rewards. Promotions for services well rendered." The room quieted, this sounded good, but could also be something of a trick.

"Firstly, the Soul Hunters needs a new Archon, a second in command who will command nearly half our armies." She turned, her gaze sweeping across the chamber before stopping on Vallus himself. He was startled, to say the least. "I present, Archon Vallus, the Dueling Lord of the Soul Hunters, General of the Vanguard." She stretched her hand towards him, and the assemblage erupted into a bout of cheers, though obviously not all were entirely pleased with this promotion, none would outwardly show it in front of the new Archon.

She'd said she'd make a general of him, but Vallus had had no clue that she intended this so soon, even after his failures mere months ago. She must have been planning this for some time, and had been much less displeased with him than she'd let on. He was speechless, and yet he knew some words were required, lest he offer an unintended insult.

The Dueling Lord bowed, much more deeply than he normally would, "Milady is gracious, yet ruthless. I am not certain I am worthy of this reward, but I will not disappoint you. I will be just as merciless and ruthless in my own command as you are." He spoke carefully, showing equal measures of ambition, respect, and fealty. It would not do to appear 'too' gracious. Nor would it benefit him to appear weak in front of his new subordinates. He noted Lethis in particular looked at him with something close to jealousy, but something else as well.

"I'm sure you will be very merciless, Vallus." Khirareq continued, motioning for him to rise. "I would expect no less of you. And **that** is why I have given you this title. You have served me well, see that you continue to do so, if you do not wish to be replaced."

"Understood, High Archon." He said with a chuckle, and a grin.

"While we're at it, we may well receive an influx of combatants from the Cult of Despair. They will need a leader, and since the former Succubus Dometerr has fallen, I must appoint another. Shiroq." Khirareq turned to face her daughter, who brightened with an eager grin. **This** Vallus had anticipated, though clearly Shiroq had not thought on this possibility until this moment.

"I am patroning the founding of a new cult. You are to be a Succubus, and you will choose your cult colors, heraldry, and name. All the wyches of the Soul Hunters and the Cult of Despair will be yours to command. And I will expect you to fulfill your duties as the mistress of a cult including fighting in the arenas under my patronage, and at my request."

"M…" She paused, her mother leveling a warning glare before she finished the word. "Archon, I am most ingratiated. I accept your generous patronage, and pledge my allegiance to the Soul Hunters." She made a light bow, finding it difficult to contain her excitement in the face of this news.

"So let us screen some of your new recruits, shall we?" Khirareq motioned towards the doors, and the victorious warriors began escorting groups of wyches, and other slaves captured from the arena fortress into the room.

Almost immediately someone among the captives began making a ruckus. Vallus watched as a lithe figure leapt free of the group, her hands still chained at the wrist, and dashed past two warriors who tried to restrain her. One earned a broken wrist for his trouble, while the other found himself with that chain around his neck.

One of Lethis' sybarites tried to intercept the woman, only to be kicked back as she leapt over her victim and snapped his neck with the chains. Vallus activated the power fields on his dueling glaive as she moved closer, laughing with childlike glee as she danced among the warriors, killing two more before her outburst stopped as abruptly as it had begun. She had burst free of the line of guards around the perimeter and into the open space between the galleries above, and where Khirareq and her lieutenants stood in the middle of the room.

But she was now enclosed in another circle. Twenty gaudy, brightly colored harlequins posed around her. Now that she'd slowed down, Vallus could see what was left of her face. Some torturer had carved her face up in a mockery of a harlequin's mask. Her cheeks slit nearly to her ears gave her a crazed grin, and vertical lines had been slashed past her eyes, in either direction, creating more scar tissue that mimicked the laughing god's chosen.

He wondered where she'd come from, probably the slave pits beneath the Cult Arena.

"What is this?" Khirareq broke the uneasy silence, moving closer to the harlequins, the last place Vallus would have wanted to be in her position.

Troupe Master Calleidas stepped forwards, and his troupe seamlessly filled the gap in the ring he'd left behind. The slave woman encircled by them trembled, looking wildly back and forth between them, as if something about them frightened her, or reminded her of something she would rather not remember.

"A bargain, we struck, A bargain we keep, and now the time to collect has come." He said, dipping at the waist, but not taking his eyes, or the eyes of his mask rather, off the Archon. "This one is the price, our share of the spoils. The Khirareq plays her part of the deal, does she not?"

"I remember." Khirareq intoned. "She was once one of you, wasn't she?"

"The Archon proves astute once more, we bow to her performance. Our lost sister we reclaim, we…"

"No!" The cry echoed harshly between the ferrocrette walls, startling even the Harlequins into momentary speechlessness. The troupe master spun to face the slave girl, who now knelt between them, her earlier mirth replaced with sorrow, which looked very out of place on her ruined face.

"No?" Vallus had never seen, nor even heard of a harlequin appearing stunned, or even more than mildly surprised, but he was seeing it now. Calleidas was apparently at a loss for words, quite possibly for the first time in his long life.

"I cannot go back, not like this." She whispered, though her voice still carried throughout the chamber. "I cannot return to He Who Laughs. My mask has been torn, my soul scarred, even a solitaire is less forsaken…"

Calleidas looked to her, then back to Khirareq, who shrugged, then finally to his other harlequins. "Honor, Calleidas." His shadowseer spoke, "We are bound, as is she."

"Then our Danse is forgotten." He intoned, somber, the expression on his mask drooping in comedic sorrow.

"No Danse is forgotten. The Greatest Harlequin knows all Danses, and knew the path of her choosing. Our performance was satisfactory, though we heard not the clapping." She broke the circle, and as before it was filled fluidly by the other troupe members.

"Liliath." The Troupe master spoke as the shadowseer passed him.

She ignored him, for the moment, "The Warqueen our ally be, sorrowed are we, but our bargain to the end we must see. Our prize will claim her path, yet the Greatest Harlequin still laughs."

Calleidas picked up the seer's narrative without missing a beat, catching on quickly to her train of thought, "Bound, we are, the Khirareq and us, the true purpose of the Danse will be revealed when it must."

"And what of her?" Khirareq was a little shaken by this scene playing out before her, but was trying hard not so show it.

"Not for us, the warqueen's captive, her fate shall you decide." They spoke as one, then retreated, forming a semicircle behind the slave girl, who now faced Khirareq's judgement with none of her previous fervor.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

"Let me have her, Lady Archon." Shiroq moved forwards, closer to her mother's side. "I will need Syrens in my new cult, and she has already demonstrated considerable skill. She dances like a wych, or perhaps more appropriately, like a harlequin. But the differences are not necessarily all that great."

Vallus snorted, wyches fighting styles may be like a dance, but they were not _Danses_. Still, she had a point. This fallen harlequin was a formidable hand-to-hand fighter, even unarmored, and unarmed.

"What is your name?" Khirareq asked, after deliberating a few quiet moments.

The scarred warrioress looked up, "No name have I, but have been called 'quinnyiel' by the wyches."

"The mad jester, a fitting name." Khirareq grinned, "Would you dance for Shiroq's cult?"

Quinnyiel's scarred visage twisted slowly into a true smile, behind the death's grin her face permanently wore, "I will _**Danse**_ for Shiroq's cult, and enjoy it. My blade will kill for the Warqueen, and my victim's blood will sing her praises."

"Then you will swear fealty to Succubus Shiroq?" Khirareq continued somberly.

"I will kill for the Succubus, and the Archon, but fealty is not mine to give. I am not true kin, but I will Danse for them."

"The Masked One embraces her soul, even if she may no longer Danse for his pleasure. We would be disappointed if the Khirareq were to forget." Calleidas explained carefully.

"I understand. Shiroq, she is yours. Yours to command, but no more." Khirareq warned her daughter, then motioned for the two nearest sybarites to take Quinnyiel.

They did not move, fear of the harlequins keeping them at bay. "I will take her, my queen." Shiroq informed her, moving past the jesters and mimes, to help Quinnyiel to her feet, and lead her from the room. She resisted, but it was playful this time, testing. She tried to pin Shiroq's arms, but the Daughter of Victory caught her hands, twisting them behind her back as she reciprocated her playful mood, and forced her from the room just a little bit painfully, both chuckling with just a hint of madness.

The room was quiet, stunned perhaps was the better term, finally Khirareq's Master Haemonculus broke the still air, "I don't believe I've ever seen anything quite like that before." Threchul observed, his tone curious and speculative.

"None have, such a play had yet to be witnessed." Troupe Master Calleidas acknowledged, before he and his troupe flipped upwards, through the air, floating with uncanny grace until they landed, balanced perfectly on the rail encircling the gallery.

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the eighth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

Special thanks to the members of www. who helped me work out some of the details for the harlequins in this and other chapters, and to **Jianre** who did an exceptional job assisting me with the cadence and wording on the Harlequin's dialogue.


	9. At the Wrong Time

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 9: At the Wrong Time**

Chapter Summary: Things are getting back to normal, and yet, something unexpected is occurring during what should have been a routine surveillance.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts, violence, and adult situations. No cussing.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

Mercelle had always been good at finding things, excellent at gathering information, and had found a place very early in her life as a scout. Her jetbike was hidden well out of sight, but not too far that she couldn't escape to it in a moment if anyone noticed her. Her brilliant platinum hair was exposed to the wind, a refreshing change from having it bound up inside a helmet. But here on the frozen wastes of Glacionus, the sheen of her hair blended well with the glaring snow.

A thick cloak of the same sort of reflective tone covered her armor, and the chill wind against her face, the only exposed skin on her body, kept her alert, without slowing her down. Her ruby eyes peered through an image enhancing scanner pressed lightly to the bridge of her nose, observing the outpost at the top of the snow covered hill.

"Looks like 20 land based transports, with supplies and personnel." She spoke softly; her voice and even some of her thoughts were recorded along with the images she viewed through her vis-recorder.

It was a small military base which doubled as a listening post for the planetary defense force here on Glacionus, and she'd been watching transports go in and out along the main road for the better part of an imperial hour, or about a third of a metapulse.

This was her first scouting mission since being promoted to the rank of sybarite. Archon Vallus himself had granted her the promotion after distinguishing herself in the battle against the Midnight Reapers. She'd ridden with his soul reavers and liked to think she'd been instrumental in Khroest's capture. Vallus had obviously recognized her deeds and offered her a command to replace the previous sybarite, who now served as one of the Soul Hunters new dracons directly under Vallus himself.

But it was not Vallus who had sent her on this operation. She and two of her squadron had been instructed to come here by the High Archon Khirareq. She had plans for this little outpost, for it surveyed an area near a small town she was considering raiding for resources.

"A Sybarite at the age of 60; I'm doing pretty well for myself." She complimented herself quietly with a private grin. "Hasn't even been that long since I was still considered an adolescent." Maturity came young in Commorragh, but it was usually around the age of 40 or 50 in standard years that an Eldar stopped growing, reaching their full 'physical' maturity.

Mercelle could have been back with the others, indulging in the spoils from their recent conquest, but she did not mind this. She enjoyed the cold, and the chance to test her skills. She loved this sort of work, even if her squadron mates griped quietly whenever they changed shifts. The three of them were trading off to provide continuous coverage of their target, gathering as much information on their routines, and strength as possible.

Such information was invaluable for whatever battles would come ahead. "At least this time it's mon keigh." She murmured softly. "Humans are more interesting, and less… unsettling, than those alien bugs they call Tyranids." She often spoke her thoughts aloud when she was alone on scouting missions. It "kept her from becoming lonely" as she'd explained jokingly to some of the other Soul Reavers.

Her last scouting mission had been on this same world, but then she'd been looking for an isolated nest of Tyranids for then Syren Shiroq to raid. "And there goes the captain." She chuckled as she saw the highest ranking imperial soldier among the convoy leave with the last chimera transport vehicle, their supplies delivered, and their errand complete.

"No doubt Khirareq will wish to strike while they are freshly supplied. Rested soldiers make better slaves, and they'll have more of other materials we could use than they would if we waited." She felt she would soon have a full report to send back to Commorragh, and perhaps this assignment wouldn't last too much longer. But that call was not hers to make.

"At least these imperials are smart enough to use camouflage colors on their tanks." She observed to no one in particular. "I've seen guardsmen field bright red tanks on a forest world overflowing with green."

"You've never fought on a world overflowing with green." The voice of her subordinate, Faladon, startled her briefly, as he came through the trees to where she was hidden surveying the hill in the distance.

"I didn't say 'how' I'd seen them." She retorted irritably. "I've seen holo recordings of such things." He was older than her by a few years, but she was still in charge, a fact he seemed to resent just a little, though they both understood that power is only gained through merit or scheming, and she'd done more of both than he had.

"Your shift is almost done." He informed her, changing the subject slightly. "Might want to check on your bike, there was some sort of scavenger creature sneaking around the camp a little earlier. Might have gotten into something he shouldn't have before he found the poison bait we laid out for it. I'm surprised you didn't hear it shrieking as it died, it was a rather interesting sound, quite entertaining."

"I'm sure it was, but the noise could have given away our position..." She scowled at him, something which never seemed to fail to cause him amusement.

She had an uncommon failing among the true kin. She was cute; adorable even. Her softly rounded youthful face betrayed dimples when she frowned, and she had a natural slightly klutzy grace with her movements which she'd never been able to completely train off. She had no talent for intimidation, and when she was angry, her peers just found her all the cuter, as her voice often hitched in a bit of a childish whine.

This would have made her a terrible haemonculus, but it did not hinder her role as a scout, just her interactions with her squad mates.

She averted her gaze, looking back towards the mon keigh outpost. "Do you think perhaps you could at least _pretend_ I look fierce when I'm trying to chastise you?" She asked, then held up a hand to stop any response he might have made as she spotted something through her vis-recorder.

"What's that? It almost looks like the snow is moving…" She said, handing the device to Faladon.

He crouched low and looked through the lenses, "Something with natural camouflage… a great deal of somethings." He observed. "Look semi-bipedal, with… maybe six limbs? It's hard to pick them out, even with the vis highlighting their heat signatures."

"Give me that." Mercelle snatched the vis recorder back from him and quickly looked through. She'd seen things that matched that description before. "Gaunts… and maybe some genestealers. The imperials are just becoming aware of them; they're practically on the walls already."

"Tyranids?" He asked skeptically. "What would they be doing here? Didn't the Daughter of Victory dispatch them sometime last week?"

"That was just a small nest, this looks like a much bigger group, though I only see their fodder, I haven't…" She paused, looking closer for a long moment. "Prince!" she swore, "I think there are already some inside the compound. Definitely genestealers, and some of those bigger snake-like bugs, probably tunneled up through the ground to get inside. They can tunnel through solid ferrocrete given enough time."

Her running account of her observations was interrupted by a sound much closer to home. They both glanced at each other as a faint scratching sound came to them, seeming from beneath their feet, then a crack from further behind at their little camp. "The bikes!" They cried in unison, rushing back through the trees, abandoning their vigil for the moment in order to head off a more urgent matter.

They arrived to see their remaining comrade looking up at them in surprise, not expecting them to both return together. "What's going on, Sybarite?" Larun asked, only moments before the ground beneath the three bikes hovering a little ways past him began to shift.

"Mount up, we're under attack!" Mercelle ordered as she leapt through the air, landing on her bike in almost the same motion that she secured her helmet, powering up the engine as first one blade like talon burst through the dirt and snow beneath her, followed by another.

A ravener, possessing a snake-like body and six limbs all dedicated to tearing their prey apart, surged upwards out of the ground, shaking off dirt and other debris as it oriented itself, and reared up to slash at Mercelle. She lashed out with a foot, the armored boot impacting with the curved scythe attached to the creature's arm, and sent her reeling on the anti-grav cushion beneath her, gliding along the air away from her assailant without any real harm done to her.

A moment later the jet thruster along the length of her bike came to life, adding to the velocity of her glide, and helping her steer to avoid an incoming tree. By this time both her comrades were also on their reavers, but the first ravener was being followed by several more, bursting up through the ground from their own burrows, and joining in the fight without having to take stock of the situation, they already had the relevant information from the psychic relay of their Alpha.

"We're leaving, get to the rendezvous point." She informed her underlings, as she gunned the engine of her bike, charging at the lead ravener and firing her pistol as she swooped past it. It tried to lunge at her and dig its claws into her bike, and it was fast, but not as fast as her. She twisted the controls, turning her bike almost upside down as one talon sliced the air within an terr-span of her thigh, and spiraled upwards in the air. She slashed the Alpha across the side of its head with the blade affixed to her pistol as a parting shot.

Then she was away, through the trees, flying far to fast for the creature to keep up, despite its powerful locomotion.

* * *

The air was still, and the halls quiet. Archon Vallus, Dueling Lord of the Soul Hunters had just finished washing after a fierce training exercise. His new Dracons were doing well, their skills sharp, and all four of them together had been almost a match for him. Yes, he was definitely enjoying his new status over the last few weeks.

He walked, as usual, flanked by his bodyguard, but where two or three used to accompany him wherever he went, he now had a full compliment of 6 incubi tailing his every move. He'd put his leggings and boots back on after emerging from his shower, but let one of the guardians carry his breast plating and mesh shirt, allowing the air to dry his damp skin and hair.

He still carried his weapon, of course, as one should never be caught unarmed or unawares. He wouldn't have tolerated such brazen weakness in one of his lieutenants, let alone himself.

When he arrived at his quarters he immediately realized something was amiss. The door was unlocked, and there was a 'presence' to the air. He was no psyker, but he could still sense the difference between an empty room, and one which was occupied by at least one person. No one should've been here in his private chambers, and that almost certainly meant trouble.

With a silent gesture he alerted his Incubi to be on guard, raising his weapon and hovering his thumb over the rune which would activate the power fields on the twin blades in an instant. Then he stepped through the door, opening it on silent hinges, and examined the room. Movement! He tensed and spun around in time to spot the intruder as she lunged from behind the door, but not in time to block her from grabbing his wrists, her momentum pressing him back away from the door and his protectors.

"Lethis! What are you…?" He'd thought she was attacking him at first, but she held no weapon. His startled query was rather abruptly interrupted as the Dracon's lips met his.

If he'd been startled before, he was stunned now, particularly as she brought her tongue into the unexpected kiss, as his back went up against one wall, and her teeth bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. His incubi stayed close, recognizing quickly that he was not in direct danger, but still ready to intervene rapidly should it seem necessary.

Recovering at last, Vallus shoved his ambusher away far enough to reverse her hold, deftly grabbing one of Death's Shadow's wrists. He wrenched it up at an awkward angle, drawing a gasp of pain from her throat as she was forced to break the kiss. "Explain yourself!" He insisted, licking his lips and the fleck of blood there.

"Vallus!" She said simply, bringing one leg up knocking his breath from him with a solid knee planted in his ribs. The blow sent him stumbling to the side the few spans left to his bed, with her swiftly pouncing atop him and attempting to pin him down. "I want you!" She added, claiming his lips once more as she straddled him, her weight pressing him down into the luxurious mattress.

He fisted a hand in her hair, and dragged her face away from his, even as her nails scored thin pink lines all down his chest. "Lethis, what in Khaine's bloody name are you doing?"

She gasped a little, trying to regain the upper hand, but without the element of surprise she was losing momentum. She froze when he brought his dueling glaive into the narrow space between them, poised a hairsbreadth from her neck. "I'm…" She glanced quickly back and forth from his hard face to the blade mere inches from her life's blood, her entire body tensed motionless except for her eyes, "Seducing you…" She explained, simply, sounding a little lost now that he'd gained the edge in this encounter.

Vallus merely chuckled, "I can see that, but, out of curiosity, why?"

She gulped then shrugged, "I want you, and I want you to want me. We could be… not partners, but allies. I could be valuable to you, I can offer you much, and not just passion. I know you want me, I can feel it!"

"Can you now?" He raised one eyebrow, and watched her carefully, warily. With her actions halted for the moment he was able to think, clear his confused mind a little. It didn't take him more than a few moments to put the pieces together.

Lethis was ambitious, and she'd been working steadily towards that ambition year after year, but she seemed to have plateaued more recently. This fact had been brought into cruel clarity after the siege when Khirareq had humiliated her by expressing how "unimpressed" she'd been. So now Lethis must be trying to more actively find new ways of gaining the power she desired, and since she'd had no recent opportunities to attempt to impress their Queen of War, she'd decided on a different avenue, the one which had led her here...

Vallus was now her superior, and while she was not under his direct command, he could still grant her boons, even conspire with her. If she made herself something he wanted, or something he needed.

Seducing him like this was risky, certainly, but he could see how it could be the first step to gaining his support and ultimately progressing her own ambitions.

He removed his weapon, depositing the glaive beside the bed and turning her on her back so fast she didn't have time to anticipate or resist him pinning her. He made certain she could not escape, no matter how she struggled, enjoying the expression of uncertainty which overtook her face.

"You want me to help you, to assist you in gaining power, or to grant you power myself." He stated, looking into her sparkling eyes.

She didn't bother to deny it. "Well, you'll have to prove to me it's worth my while, won't you?" He continued, drawing a determined and playful grin from her youthful face. She arched her neck up, and met his lips again as he bent for another kiss.

* * *

Panting, and exhilarated, Vallus lounged on a comfortable chair smiling down at Lethis, who knelt, naked, at his feet. She too was breathing heavily, the bruise on one side of her face doing nothing to detract from her appeal in that moment.

It had been a very long time since Vallus had mated with an Eldar, and never with someone so close to his station that he felt comfortable letting down some of his guard. Their minds had touched several times, even melded briefly, and he knew more about her now, than he did about most anyone else alive.

She was beautiful, her skin flawless in the light from his luminary crystals, the thin scratches and single bruise he'd marked her with only making him more satisfied to call her his.

She looked so very satisfied herself, and it was obvious she had not experienced a lover as skilled as him before. Her hair tousled and wild, her body flushed with the heat of their spent passion.

"I've owned you." He spoke softly, thrilling at the sound of the words.

She did not flinch, but did close her eyes briefly. She'd let him afterall, she'd put herself at his mercy, allowed him to claim her, body and soul, and she'd wanted it far more than he did. She'd enjoyed it, more than she'd expected, and yet, it was still harsh to hear it spoken.

Vallus couldn't resist chuckling at her. "Don't look so glum, you were impressive. Few give of themselves so fully, particularly among those who hold power. I envy you, you know."

That startled her, her crystal blue eyes opened to gaze at him in mild confusion. "You… envy me? You have everything I desire, will likely gain more soon. You are talented, and merciless, and if you are lucky, and cautious, you will go far, become truly great. And yet, you envy… me?"

He hadn't expected her to understand, but he would perhaps try to explain. "You are… oblivious, about so many things. You have gained power without hardly trying, relied on your luck, and improvised talent, to get where you are. And… you experience soo… deeply. Your passion is real, your lust unfettered. You don't hold back, and there is a part of me, that wishes I could indulge the way you do. Your pleasure is so very intense, but for someone like me, I cannot let myself go to that degree. Call it paranoia, or fear…" She raised one delicate eyebrow at him, "yes fear, my pet. To indulge too deeply, without restrained, is to invite the enemy. Our pleasure is our birthright, but we must still remember the lessons of the past."

She nodded, laying her head back on his thigh as he continued. He let one hand stroke the luxurious flame of her hair. "And so I exercise restraint, keeping a cautious eye open, even in the throes of lovemaking. I keep my thoughts on our intentions, and what we each hope to get out of this, and thus my enjoyment of the moment is diminished, however slightly. But it was still worth it. You are truly amazing."

He let several long silent moments pass, "Now, I suppose we should discuss exactly what, besides our bodies, we will share in this little… arrangement, don't you think?" She looked up at him, grinning. This was what she'd come here for.

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the ninth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.


	10. Masks and Masques

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 10: Masks and Masques**

Chapter Summary: Khirareq sends an envoy to her would be allies of the Whisperer's Enclave.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For Graphic concepts, brief violence, and limited gore. No cussing, no adult situations.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

The trip hadn't been particularly long, but Zul felt a weariness he was hard pressed to explain. He'd ridden with a convoy well outside the bounds of Commorragh, following the path their guide had shown them, a short cut to the murky edges of the webway. In essence, they had crossed almost a quarter of the galaxy in a little under fifty metapulses which was over 6 standard Imperial days.

A quick check of his chronoharmonic confirmed that only about three fourths of that time had passed back in the fortress of the Soul Hunters. A lot of Commorragh seemed to be built around paths of subtly dilated space-time, just one more defense between them and the Great Enemy.

"We're almost here, Hierarch." Zul regarded their guide, one of Dracon Kelnar's loyal warriors, who had brought them this far. The man was just a little nervous in the face of Zul's unflappable calm. He knew he must seem almost lazy to this outcast, and yet he'd been sharp, aware, noticing things which the younger Eldar had missed.

"Lord Malfes is expecting us." Zul said aloud, it was more a statement than a question, but the guide answered anyways.

"Yes, Lord Zul, he must know you are close." He fidgeted , sitting in a navigator's seat just behind the co-pilot's seat on the transport skiff they rode in, the first of two such skiffs travelling together. They were not warships, not like the raiders, venoms, or slavehunter they'd used in their recent battle with the Midnight Reapers, but they were fast, and agile, and could be used as offensive mobile battlecraft in a pinch. Very little in the armouries of Commorragh could not be turned to a combat use when necessary.

He considered the way the guide said 'must know'. Malfes was a Psyker, they knew that much already, but Zul was indelibly curious just what sort of power he possessed. All Eldar could communicate telepathically, either through natural skill or at least with a focusing crystal like the one he wore now in his headband.

Their Craftworld kin practiced the powers of the seer and the warlock; perception and manipulation of the future and fate, and direct mental augmentation of skill in combat. Zul himself had never met a psyker of the True Kin before, and so he had little idea beyond his creative musings what form this archuleth's talents would take.

"Curious is the Hierarch?" The lilting voice of Liliath, the Shadowseer, cut through Zul's musings. She still wore her mask, indeed her entire holosuit. He'd never seen a harlequin without both, or her weapons for that matter. Khirareq had asked a few of the harlequins to accompany him. They had experience and knowledge dealing with the Great Enemy, and psykers in general, and they would be able to tell if Malfes was tainted by his gifts.

"Oh the Hierarch is more than curious." He replied after a moment, considering his words carefully with this mysterious and dangerous individual. "The Hierarch is excited. A great many new experiences await him, and he enjoys solving riddles and puzzles."

"The Hierarch's verse has yet a tune." She informed him, the smile on her mask widening into a shadowed grin. "Yet a Danser he has not been, nor many a Danse watched. Methinks, an innate ear? Or a song sung while the mind drooped in boredom perhaps?"

"Practiced, it is not." Zul assured her quickly, "But entertaining just the same, an exercise in wit against a worthy partner. Oddly fascinating it is found, an understanding of your enjoyment of it one certainly discovers."

The guide, still standing near the prow of the ship glanced back at them both warily, finding Zul's banter with the Harlequin more than a little unnerving. It occurred to Zul that there probably weren't very many, even among the True Kin, who would have the audacity to attempt the verbal cadence of the Laughing God's chosen. He hadn't even considered that it could be thought of as mocking, but if Liliath did not object he saw no reason to stop.

"In Commorragh, the drums must beat a conflict. The Song be not for wit or competition, our tune yet not breathes superiority nor is creativity our lyric. But in all Danses lives but to please He Who Laughs, for whom all things are Poetry and Song, we learn naught but Verse, indeed become it, live it. Thus Verse our lives in turn takes, as natural as the dance of the knife to the flesh of the songless."

"Spoken well, as expected." Zul nodded an acknowledgement of her point, "If it please the greatest Harlequin, then an indulgence from time to time one might not begrudge him, though the Danse one lives not, for indulgence is one's birthright, is it not? Old as any of the gods, our birthright is." He smiled, rather impressed that he had found a way to tie together the beliefs of their culture with those of the mysterious harlequins, but he quickly noted that Liliath's mask had morphed into an exaggerated frown.

"Your birthright, but a child to the Masked One." She chided him, "Ware indulgence, lest it clouds your ears and your tune be lost. Excess doth silence cry, and the Knowing of who rules **that**, is a rhythm to us both yet."

Excess… Indulgence the path to excess. Yes, Zul knew well who was the Prince of Excess, the Great Enemy, or any number of other names. "Ours does not serve Him." He assured Liliath, "Mocking the Thirsting One do we with our indulgence. Steal out pleasures from beneath Her very table, and deny Her prize with our every breath do we. He Who Laughs must surely be pleased by the eternal laughter at Her from every corner of the City of Night."

"Pleasing be the song of laughter, mayhap." Liliath surrendered that point, "But sorrow the tune becomes for the Kin who miss the steps, stumbling in their dance for their eye stealing feet, who tumble, their cords flat, into the maw of Thirst. You dance a shuriken edge, tempt the fates as you change your pitch, pray you do not fall also."

"Would I, if prayer became one. No, pray one does not. Begrudge not also, the pleasure of the Gods, but watch us they do no longer. Need of them have the Kin long since transcended."

"We do not clap our own display," Liliath answered him quickly, "But mayhap you will yet enjoy Their audience. Watch your dance, for yet an encore They may still cry of the tearful ones."

'Tearful ones.' That was a new one, Zul had heard the True Kin called many things, but not that. Still it fit, when the harlequins had first arrived they'd called Commorragh the City of Burning Tears, he recalled. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the imagery of 'tearful ones.'

He glanced at Liliath whose expression seemed no longer annoyed, no longer amused. It was a face he'd not seen before on one of their masks, but a face he knew well just the same. Satisfaction. She was pleased with how their conversation had turned out, and in truth, he didn't blame her. They'd made a connection, he thought, and he understood a bit better what it was she and her kind wanted, and perhaps a bit more what they disliked about the True Kin, aside from the enslaving and torturing which, while certainly enjoyable, even Zul could admit could be distasteful to one who had not given themselves to their birthright. He knew his place, and he knew he was meant to be at the top, stand amongst the lords of the universe and laugh his triumph in the face of all who would oppose them; even the very gods of Chaos.

But, he understood, as did she, and he could see her point even if he knew there was more to it than that, and **that** was enough, for now.

* * *

The gaunt figure rushed through streets, bundled up against the snow, but also to hide a body disfigured with unnatural growth. His hood pulled low over his face as he approached one of the largest buildings in the whole city, a twenty story facility housing the corporate headquarters of one of the most prominent companies in the sector.

People outside mused idly, talking about how quickly the company had risen to success. There was some skepticism, and more than a little envy in their voices. The messenger paid them no heed, he knew their days were numbered, knew they would soon see the light, as he had, and either be changed by it, or burned by it.

The receptionist in the lobby gave him an odd look as he flashed his keycard, with a picture of his face, on a good day, and his access level on the front. She pressed the button beneath her desk that allowed him access to the elevator, where he sighed in relief and slouched against the railing. It was so much warmer inside, and he was so very susceptible to the cold these days.

"_You're coming, good. I hope you bring better news than the last messenger."_ The figure in the elevator flinched, glancing around. He hated when they did that, talked in his head. He gulped when the elevator doors opened at the top floor, blanched when he saw a hulking janitor mopping up the remains of a red puddle just below the dais containing the massive desk with the perfect view of the city all around.

This office dominated the entirety of the upper most floor, except for the outer balcony with the stairs up to the hover-jet landing pad on the roof. The man behind the desk was tall, and appeared even more so wearing the impeccably tailored suit sewn together from elaborate materials of exotic creatures throughout the known galaxy. The lapels ruffled with multicolored feathers given off a metallic sheen.

He possessed a hawk like nose and piercing gold eyes. The messenger didn't know if those were the eyes he'd been born with or if he'd been given them sometime more recently. "President Voltair, the installation has been utterly destroyed by the Tyranids, I do not think there are any survivors. I…"

"You do not think?" The man raised one raven eyebrow, the light reflecting off his eyes almost blinding for a brief instance, "Did you not search to discover for certain?"

"Mr. President, my apologies, but with the snow, and the Tyranids may have been lingering in the area still, I was instructed to return immediately and…"

"Instructed by whom?" He interrupted him once more, his voice raised in an angry shout, "I give you your orders, and I did not instruct anyone to change them." He said, striding down from the dais towards the cowering messenger, a bolt of purple energy forming on the tips of his fingers.

"It was Them! One of the Sorcerers!" He screeched wildly, backing up until there was no room to back up any further, his back pressed against the frosted glass leading out to the balcony, his face squinted and turned away as far as he could from this dangerous man's wrath.

He waited for the deathblow to fall; he could hear the crackling lightning that would certainly end his life, just another red spot on the tiles for the janitor to clean up. But it never came. After a brief eternity he opened an eye, saw the pulse of lavender fire dance along Voltair's hand, then disappear completely.

"These sorcerers irritate me." The president said at last, turning away from the mortally afraid messenger. "After all I have done, they seek to take my accomplishments on the very eve of victory, and claim credit for the empire I have built."

"There's… one other thing." The messenger whimpered, gathering his courage now that the president's wrath had abated. "He said to tell you he's coming, that he wants to personally oversee the final stages, now that we have perfected the control necessary to…"

He never even flinched this time. The bolt of plasma took off his head and smeared his body against the glass, staining the transparent material with scorched entrails faster than he could blink, as the president turned away. "I know why he's coming." He said simply, nodding as the janitor moved to the window, and began scooping the remains of this latest messenger into a bag, his abnormally long tongue snaking from his wolf-like maw to taste some of the half cooked meat in the process. "He's coming to take my glory. We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the ninth chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

Special thanks to **Jianre** who did an exceptional job assisting me with the cadence and wording on the Harlequin's dialogue.

As a note, I've gone through the entire story, and made some minor edits here and there, mostly involving changing some titles and weapon names to reflect new material in the 2010 Dark Eldar Codex. Primarily, I've changed the titles of Wych leaders, but also changed Lethis' weapon of choice from an Agoniser Whip, to an Electrocorrosive Whip, among other things. None of this significantly alters the story, but for those of you who wish to reread it to refresh it in your mind, I'm sure you'll notice some of the effort I've put in to keep it up to date. Enjoy!


	11. Scouts, Messengers, and Envoys

**Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 11: Scouts, Messengers, and Envoys**

Chapter Summary: Plans change, diplomacy ends in battle, and forces mobilize for war.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For Graphic concepts, suggestive dialogue, and brief violence. No cussing, no adult situations.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

**Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.**

* * *

Lethis was feeling quite please with herself as she entered the audience hall of the Soul Hunter's fortress. This was one of her favorite rooms, for it was where Khirareq met with her Kabal as a whole, and where she displayed the evidence and trophies of her greatest triumphs. Lethis knew someday she'd have a hall just like this, maybe even grander.

She danced across the empty space towards Khirareq's throne, spinning in a circle once to gaze fondly at the gallery, and the great doors which led out of the hall, where individual petitioners would enter through to speak with their mistress. Unlike the throne room of the Midnight Reapers' fortress, this room had only three exits. The first were the wide doors, reinforced with sturdy alloys and a force field against invaders. There was a second exit directly opposite, partially hidden behind columns, and the location of the third exit was a closely guarded secret, but Lethis suspected it was near the throne, which sat in the exact center of the spacious chamber.

The dais the throne rested on was rather clever, in Lethis opinion, for it could be perfectly level with the floor, or it could extend upwards on hidden motors like a telescope, enough to form steps on the outer edges, or even to raise the throne itself high into the air where it could not be reached from the ground. At present it was flush with the ground, and Lethis approached it, running her fingers along the intricate carvings on the arms and back of the throne. In her explorations she'd once discovered a hidden trigger on the throne itself which would activate a dangerous trap to spray anyone near the edge of the dais with toxic chemicals. Since then she'd searched for more such devices, and had discovered another which opened a secret compartment perfectly sized to conceal one of Khirareq's polearms within easy reach.

She hummed to herself as she set about tracing the designs of the chair, padded in all the right places, but still severe and harsh in appearance. She stopped suddenly, growing still and quiet as voices drifted to her, along with measured footfalls which she could mistake for no one other than the owner of the chamber.

She made a dash for the gallery, and hid behind a column bare moments before the second door opened, admitting Khirareq and her companions into the room. It wasn't against the rules for Lethis to be here, but she wasn't sure she liked the idea of Khirareq knowing just how much she enjoyed her things when she was not using them.

The War Queen was accompanied by her standard retinue of incubi, as well as three kabal warriors, wearing the armor of reaver riders. Lethis didn't recognize any of them, though she thought the girl closest to the archon was one of Vallus' new sybarites. She had a very… gentle face, and Lethis had to wonder how she'd made it to any rank at all with such an _amiable_ visage.

"…I have prepared a full report, of course, but I thought you'd want to hear of this as soon as I returned." The platinum haired girl was saying her youthful brow wrinkled ever so slightly in frustration or irritation above her striking red eyes.

"You were correct in your assumption, Sybarite Mercelle." Khirareq responded. "I am not an expert on the tactics and strategies of the hive fleets, but this most definitely smells off to me. I am going to summon my dracon court, as well as Archon Vallus and his court. I will ask you to explain to them what you have just shared with me."

Lethis sighed, knowing she'd have to reveal herself now, since she was to receive a summons anyways. She stepped out from behind the column, and winced when Khirareq frowned the moment she spotted her.

"Trying your hand at eavesdropping, Death's Shadow?" she asked after a moment.

"It was not intentional, milady, I was already in the room when I heard you approaching, I'd planned to simply slip away while your attention was on other things, but since I overheard you say you'd be summoning your court, there'd be little point in me leaving now."

"It's dangerous to skulk about; one might mistake you for an assassin, or worse and that might not end well for you." She admonished.

"I understand." Lethis said simply, moving to stand a little ways away, and regard her mistress.

Khirareq decided to move on, and gestured to one of her incubi, who departed to send messengers to summon her court. Lethis wondered why she didn't simply convene a war council, to summon the entire court must mean either something very unexpected and important had come up, or perhaps that Khirareq was upset enough to want a more public display. She could feed off the emotions of the crowd, and stirring up their excitement or bloodlust would help temper her own frustrations or anger.

It didn't take long; no one wanted to keep Khirareq waiting, and soon the hall was filling up. It was a little surprising, in fact, just how many people were filing into the room, taking seats, even as Khirareq's generals and lieutenants took their places closer to their Queen. Lethis had not realized until she saw them all assembled, just how large their Kabal had become. There was more than could fit in the room, but then some had to stay on post to guard against invasion, while others were still in the field.

"Most of you know of our recent interest in the Glacionus system." Khirareq began once the crowd had settled and quieted. "You may not know the details, and you may not have fought in individual battles, some of you may have only heard about this campaign recently since joining our prestigious Kabal. Something has come to my attention that I wish for you now to know, for its ramifications are dire."

She gestured Vallus forward, and her second moved to stand closer, but not too close, bowing as befit his station as her fellow Archon. She spoke briefly with him, and he glanced at the scout who'd reported to Khirareq in the first place. Lethis' guess had apparently been correct, Mercelle belonged to Vallus, and Khirareq was doing him the courtesy of explaining her use of his servant.

Then Mercelle stepped forwards, all eyes on her. There was a brief murmur through the assembled kindred, Lethis thought they found her appearance funny, but Mercelle ignored them, no doubt used to this sort of attention.

"My Lady Khirareq assigned me to a routine surveillance of an imperial outpost we might be targeting on Glacionus Three. I was about to return with my report, after the outpost had been resupplied, when it came under attack by a third party. I observed the Tyranids begin to assault the outpost, and returned to confirm it had been utterly destroyed, and then I came here. Khirareq was most displeased when I told her what I'd seen, for this struck her as very uncharacteristic behavior on the part of the Tyranids."

Khirareq motioned for the girl to resume her place, and stood to address her Kabal, though more specifically her dracons. "I do not know for certain what prompted the Tyranids to attack in this way. It is possible this is normal behavior, but I do not think so. I am no seer, but I sense there is more to this than the Great Devourer normally accounts for, so I've called this court that we might speculate and share any insight each of us may have, and form a larger picture of the situation. I will allow Archon Vallus to officiate, but if things should get out of hand I will step in and punish any offenders. Be that as it may, if you withhold information that could prove useful, I will punish you far more severely. Vallus." She gestured to her Archon, and he bowed again before she sat back down on her throne.

Vallus was efficient, and ruthless, calling on people who believed they had information, and cutting them off as soon as they were finished. Lethis watched, admiring the way he worked, building an image of the foe they faced. The consensus seemed to agree with Khirareq, that the small force of Tyranids in the system should not have so openly begun attacking targets without the support of a hive fleet, but beyond that most could offer no more than idle speculation as to the cause.

Finally one girl, a very young warrior who already had earned a scar across her cheek, was called on, and very nervously said, "There's a chaos cult, in the Glacionus system, if they have powerful sorcerers, they may have found a way to influence the Tyranid hive communications."

"How do you know this?" Khirareq asked; certain that if her scouts had obtained such information she would have heard about it.

"When Archon Vallus attacked the Lance Glorificus I overheard some soldiers discussing it. I believe that's why the Inquisition has a presence in the Glacionus system to begin with."

"Truth, speaks the young." There was a collective gasp throughout the room, this was the first time anyone had spoken out of turn. The crowd parted a bit to reveal Calleidas whose holo suit had disguised him as one of Khirareq's Kabal, but now that he was revealed it shifted back to its customary visage as troupe master of their resident harlequins. He stood and began walking forward towards Khirareq, "Knowing of Truth have we; a gift from He Who Laughs, yet there is more. Speculation determines perhaps these are the steps we saw naught when our bargain first concluded."

"The Laughing God eternally fights against the Lords of Chaos, doesn't he?" Khirareq mused. "I'm inclined to believe this might just be the case. Still, my knowledge of Tyranids is incomplete, and Threchul has not yet completed his studies of the synapse creature, but I know where I might seek out more detailed information."

"As says the Warqueen, Calleidas would enjoy her company, if she would enjoy ours." Khirareq smiled, and nodded, then turned back towards the girl who'd spoken only to shrink back behind the taller warriors around her when the room's attention had been drawn to the danser.

"Warrior, come forwards again. Vallus will continue, but I wish to begin preparations, he will fill me in before I depart." Lethis watched her leave with her Incubi, Mercelle, Calleidas, and the young girl, who appeared no older than thirty standard years at the most, she had not yet reached her full height, or developed her full figure, yet she walked with a grace and confidence some of the True Kin never achieved, she was talented, a prodigy perhaps, or maybe she'd just been forced to learn quickly to survive.

Lethis turned her attention back to the proceedings, much as her curiosity ate at her, she didn't want to miss what was happening here either. It did occur to her, to wonder why all the really unusual subordinates seemed to belong to Vallus.

* * *

"What is your name, warrior?" Khirareq asked the young girl who accompanied her away from the great hall.

"Liaratali." She answered back promptly, "I'm blooded, and trueborn."

"I know, I make a habit of memorizing small details about all of my warriors, you look a little different than I remember, however, and that's why I asked." The girl nodded, and Khirareq considered her for a moment as they walked, she seemed in awe of her, and yet wary as well; smart, and talented, for one so young. Khirareq herself was not particularly tall, but she felt her height next to the teen.

"Why did you ask me to come along?" The young warrior asked after the silence had stretched a moment.

"What else, if anything, can you tell me about the chaos cult in the Glacionus system?" Khirareq got straight to the point.

"Not much, I just remember them talking about it, saying something about being frustrated they couldn't find the thing."

"Interesting, the Inquisition is supposed to be very good at rooting out such problems, which means the cult must be either very small, very secretive, or very powerful, assuming you heard right."

"Powerful?" The girl was smart, but still inexperienced with such matters.

"If they have the power, through technology or sorcery, to hide their presence from humans as dedicated and skilled as the Inquisition generally are, it's not insignificant."

"I see. Do most Chaos cultists have psykers?"

"It's one of the reasons we fight them whenever we can." Khirareq tried to remember if she'd ever been this curious. "Except for cults of the blood god, of course."

"Four are our enemy, the greatest of all the warp, each a different mind, a different way of seeing, those who become lured by the pipes find their own steps, creating thousands of ways where there were four, each lure unique, and each to be approached with care, lest one falls and never dance again." Khirareq had not forgotten the harlequin still accompanied them, but Liaratali started visibly when he began speaking.

"I'll uh… remember that." She muttered, confused as to the meaning of his words.

"Each of the main gods has their own methods, their own tricks. Their followers often find their own ideas, however, and so the possible variations on tactics and abilities are quite extensive." Khirareq explained.

She nodded, and smiled, understanding that explanation better. Calleidas' mask assumed a 'hurt' expression, but the harlequin himself merely shrugged when Khirareq met his gaze.

"Is that all you know?" Khirareq asked again when the silence stretched for more than a moment.

"I'm sorry, my Queen, that is all." She looked worried, perhaps that her lack of additional information would be a punishable offense.

Khirareq merely smiled, "Very well, you may return to court, but take this." She gestured, and one of her incubi extended one gauntlet, without breaking stride, and opened her fist to reveal a delicately crafted hairclip with a psicrystal worked into it.

"A personal psicrystal channel, in case I decide I have any new questions, I'll be able to contact you directly."

Liaratali took it from her hand, and smiled before turning and dashing back the way they'd come, vaulting lithely over a low obstacle in her haste. She was honored, of course, but experienced enough to know that honors could often cut both ways.

"Youth and promise we enjoy seeing, even in the children of the dark." Calleidas' voice lilted musically as he regarded the young warrior's departure.

"Promise, definitely." Khirareq smiled, "But I do have to wonder. I don't suppose you noticed anything… unusual?"

"All kindred have their secrets, even children; we are not surprised to learn she is no exception." Khirareq had to think about that, but decided it meant there was no immediate threat. She wished Zul were present, to give her his opinion on the youth. She'd already caught the Warqueen's attention, and that could be either very dangerous, or very fortuitous for her advancement.

But she had other matters to think on. "You will accompany me? I am leaving on a short trip, and I won't be traveling alone. I don't know if you'll want to bring along some of your troupe or not."

"A few, mayhap. We sense the dance will not be without misstep. Even so, vigilance is never wasted, we believe."

"I can definitely agree with that." Khirareq had already made a mental list of who would be enlisted for her entourage, and she sent her summons as soon as she arrived in her chambers. Calleidas waited outside. She didn't think he meant her harm, but there was a limit to how far her 'trust' would extend, even with a Harlequin troupe master. There was a hiss, and a slight scent of burnt skin on the air, and she glanced towards her personal slave pen in an alcove across from her bed chamber door. A pair of eyes glared back from behind the force screen, and Khirareq laughed, "No time for 'play' today, lovely. Mommy's got an errand to run!"

Her words were greeted by a strangled hiss and a glare of absolute hatred. It warmed Khirareq's black heart, and she was still smiling when she emerged in full armor to meet with those she'd summoned to the docking bay.

* * *

"This one believes the darkened mists are omnipresent in the outer weaves." Zul explained to his companion, sifting his fingers through the air, and watching the black particles flow and swirl around his hand. "The reasoning for our name for them, one would think?"

"The lyric has indeed a rhythm." Liliath agreed.

"The Dark Ways are treacherous, but not too dangerous for a large group like ours." Their guide explained as they disembarked from their transports, and started forwards to be greeted by a small army of servants and lesser warriors. They did not try to relieve them of their weapons; probably a wise move.

"Master Malfes is awaiting your arrival in his throne room." A woman told them. She was older than Khirareq, Zul noted, though her exact age was difficult to place, as with all Eldar. He was better at such estimations than most and he wagered she must be at least a five or six thousand. Still swift and athletic, but old enough that she was starting to slow down without a ready supply of souls to rejuvenate her here in the dark ways.

The fortress was well maintained, but obviously in need of some extra reinforcements and supplies. It was a wreck compared to the tower fortress of the Soul Hunters, but understandably so. They were led along a central avenue, and into the main keep, with co-axial disintegrator turrets on each corner of the hexagonal building.

Some attempt had been made to bring the throne room up to a more generous standard, and Zul could almost forget he was in a deposed enclave as he set foot in the spacious room, and approached the dais and its occupant.

"Lord Archuleth Malfes of the Whisperers." Zul intoned, offering a curt bow, without letting his eyes leave the psyker's face. Liliath's curtsy was much more elaborate and formal, but then everything the Harlequins did seemed to require dramatization.

"You are Hierarch Zul." Malfes said, as if confirming it to himself then added, "I am pleased that Khirareq accepted my invitation to open a negotiation. And I understand why she sent you, instead of coming herself. "Please, sit." Chairs were brought forwards for them, nothing especially comfortable, but the gesture was appreciated all the same, many leaders among the True Kin never allowed their subordinates to sit while attending court.

"You wish to form an alliance, and we think that could be profitable for both our interests." Zul offered. "But we must ensure that your motives truly align with our own, and that such an alliance will indeed prove advantageous to us. To be perfectly blunt, we don't need you, but you seem to need us, and that makes your position tentative at best."

"Me and mine have already offered assistance to Khirareq; have already proven our willingness to serve her interests. And we have asked only this opportunity to further cement our alliance in exchange."

"Khirareq owes you nothing. You said yourself you offered your assistance free of obligation or charge." Zul was starting to enjoy this conversation. Malfes may have been an outcast, but he seemed to understand bartering and the deadly dance of power.

"Indeed, but it is not what I have given that has so intrigued the Warqueen. No, that earned me only this interview. It's what I still have to offer. She's never seen a Dark Eldar battle psyker in action before, and I feel confident she'll wish to witness such at least once."

"That is what I'm here to determine." Zul interjected smoothly. "I'm here to get a feel for your ability and power, both personal and that of your enclave. So by all means, I think a demonstration is in order."

"Quite so. I will admit some curiosity of my own as well." Malfes stood from his throne, and stepped off the dais. The whole stone circle shifted backwards on silent motors until it was flush with the wall, leaving the center of the room clear, except for the three of them. "I have never had the opportunity of seeing a Shadomite blade dancer in combat either."

Zul visibly started, and even Liliath looked at him with renewed interest and respect. There were very few who knew where Zul had originally trained his skills, and Malfes should not have been one of them. "You have me at a disadvantage." He was loath to admit. "And you've sparked my curiosity, as no doubt you intended."

"You wish to know, if I read that information on your mind?" Zul nodded, "No, I did not. But you did just confirm my guess, I thought I remembered you from Shadome, and from what I _have_ heard of your skills it seemed likely you might have trained with them."

"Clever." Zul acceded the compliment, genuinely impressed. It was an intriguing trick; and one which he would not fall for twice.

"Very well, I'll face you." Zul stood, and loosened his outer robe. A fluid movement dropped it on the floor, where it was retrieved by one of Malfes' servants. Liliath stepped back as the chairs were cleared from the center of the room, and Zul slipped his void katar into his hand from its hidden sheath beneath his bracer.

Its twin slipped into his off hand, but he left it dormant, for the moment. A mental impulse activated his main weapon, and the focusing crystals at either end of the handle bent a pair of spatial folds into slightly curved blades which intersected at a point about three hand-spans in front of his closed fist. They would shear through virtually any armor with unmatched ease, which was counterbalanced by possessing particularly poor penetration against energy fields of most variety.

"Just a warning, my weapons of choice can be lethal, even in a 'friendly' duel." Zul told his opponent, but if he were afraid to get a little blooded, he wouldn't be the leader of a Dark Eldar enclave. Zul wasn't worried that he would back out.

Malfes drew a long curved knife of elaborate design and a short agonizer sword from his belt, both weapons looked sharp, and lethal. The two warriors dropped into their individual stances, and moved around one another, not yet closing to within striking distance. Observation of one's opponent–to look for clues of their fighting style–was an important stage of the duel, and since neither of them was familiar with the other in the least, they took their time sizing their opponents up.

Zul made the first offense, stepping forwards into combat range and slashing out twice, testing Malfes' defenses. He dodged the first feint, then blocked the second with his agonizer, slashing with his knife as Zul swayed out of reach, then came back in, twisting his weapon in a third attack attempting to slip past his guard.

Malfes turned aside, and the deadly 'blade' of Zul's weapon barely grazed his breast plate. "You're definitely good." Malfes agreed, "Against your skill alone I doubt I'd match you. But this isn't a demonstration of purely blade craft, is it?"

Zul nodded acknowledgement of his point, and stepped back a moment, steeling himself for some psychic attack. He did not notice immediately when his vision seemed to begin blurring, and growing dim, but when Malfes began a renewed offensive he realized the power Malfes was using on him. He could move just fine, but it was growing increasingly difficult to judge his opponent's position and actions. He blocked, and feinted, and activated his second void katar, his confidence returning along with his second weapon, and the realization that he could still keep up with his opponent.

"An interesting trick, but it doesn't seem to be granting a significant advantage now that I know how to compensate for it." Zul told the Archuleth.

"It works best at longer range." Malfes shrugged, then added, "But it's served its purpose, I've managed to cut you a few times."

"It's only superficial." Zul reminded him, dancing forwards and slashing several times as he flipped over Malfes, landing two blows along his upper arm and shoulder, both shallow, but enough to sting.

Malfes extended one hand, and a ripple of invisible energy seemed to project towards Zul. This time the effects of his power were immediate. Zul did not cry out, but the sudden pain coming from his shallow wounds stunned him very briefly. It didn't stop there either, but mounted gradually, forcing him to grit his teeth as he fought to break the psyker's concentration with a new series of attacks.

He was used to pain, and did not fear it in the least, but this power was potent, and could swiftly become debilitating. "Hold, dancer." Malfes called, as Zul's blade came to rest a hairsbreadth from his throat. "That is a small taste of my power, but I also accede your victory." The pain, uncertainty, and visual dampening lifted, and Zul took several deep breaths. He hadn't even realized his nerves were being so frayed by Malfes' influence. He wondered if that were directly intentional, or a side effect of his overall ability.

"That was… not an experience I would wish to repeat." Zul told his foe, deactivating his weapons and taking several steps back.

"You are disciplined, and hardened against terror and fear, as well as highly confident and skilled. Imagine how such power would affect a less seasoned soldier, and one unaccustomed to our ways?" Malfes' grinned, it was clear he enjoyed the way his power effected people, and looked forwards to seeing its results in combat against the Soul Hunters' enemies.

"I think Khirareq may indeed be pleased with my report; that was, unsettling, and intriguing at the same time." Zul offered a rare smile, and donned his outer robe once more. Then he glanced towards Liliath, her mask morphed from an expression of watchfulness to one of pleasure.

"The taint does not mark the Archuleth, yet marked he has yet been. The seer knows curiosity, and would enjoy the telling of this mystery. She does not presently understand, and understanding we seek in all things."

Malfes regarded Liliath, absorbing her words, and something else passed between them, something Zul thought one would likely have to be a psyker to truly understand. "A symbiosis. They are called, Morghuls, and they live in this part of the webway. I do not know where they came from originally, but they have some connection with the warp, and no love of Chaos. I believe they may have been driven out of the warp by the daemons of the enemy. Through our bond, we protect one another, and it gives me the tools I need to hone my art without fear of the thirst."

"That is quite a claim. Has it been tested outside the webway?" Zul wondered aloud.

"It has, though not as much as I may have liked. That is, in part, why I wish to ally with the Queen of War."

"Well, let us talk somewhere more private, where we can discuss the details of our potential association." Zul suggested, and Malfes agreed, leading them into a smaller anteroom where they could sit comfortably and pursue their discussion as long as they desired.

* * *

Syrus, or Brother Captain Syrus as he was called now, stood in the observation deck of the cruiser he'd inherited from his former captain, the Lance Glorificus. He and the other grey knights still mourned the loss of Brother Captain Perseon, a great leader who did not even receive the honor of dying in combat with their nemesis, the minions of Chaos. It was a heavy burden to bear, but Syrus bore it willingly, and gratefully, hoping only that he honored his memory and the immortal emperor with his own service and leadership.

The stars beyond the windows glittered mockingly in the inky void of space, and Syrus regarded each in turn as if they could provide an answer to his troubles. Inquisitor Markus was putting everyone on edge, and it was with difficulty that Syrus had retained his composure. The sensor systems of their ship and the nearby station were still offline, several dozen cycles after they'd been taken out of commission by an incursion of eldar pirates. Parts of the systems had been corrupted by an advance virus, and while they had been isolated, they would need to be replaced before the entire system could be brought back online.

The problem with that, of course, was that while the order for parts had been sent out, they had to be requisitioned through the proper channels, and even for an inquisitorial strike force with the authority to cut through the logistical nightmare, that could take time.

"I'm listening to you." He said automatically when Markus asked if he'd heard a word he'd said, "I empathize with your zeal and your anger." Syrus added, "But there is no known reliable method of entering the webway. We would have to negotiate with the eldar to aid us in entering, which neither of us desires or we would have to requisition some stolen eldar artifacts, and hope they would serve our purposes without destroying us all in the attempt. The only non-eldar to successfully breach the webway in recorded history are our enemies, and we will not negotiate or deal with them in any way."

This was not the first time Syrus had said this, but he said it with the same patience and sympathy he'd used the last time, and the first time, and as before, it mollified Markus only a little. "We can't just let them… get away, without reprisal."

"Vengeance is not our way." Syrus reminded him. "And I believe we have not seen the last of these eldar, as I've said. They disabled our systems for a reason, and I have no doubt they have continued interest in this star system. If we are patient, our enemy will come to us."

"Easy for you to say." Markus stormed off, and Syrus just shook his head. He wished he had Perseon's rigid discipline. He was patient, and good at holding his emotions in check. He'd never lost his mind to anger or battle lust, but Markus was starting to irritate him, and his stress seemed somewhat contagious.

"We'll have our chance." He spoke to the void outside the window, and sighed. He had a bad feeling about whatever was to come. Markus' inability to let go of his anger did not bode well, but Syrus knew he and his men were up to the task of whatever lay ahead. "Which is the greater threat, at present?" He wondered, to no one in particular, "Perseon's murderers, or the defilers we hunted to this frozen system."

He wondered how long they would have to wait, how long he and his men would sit idle before… No, he wouldn't allow them to waste away idle; he realized that may have been part of the problem right there. Idleness was discouraged; it promoted frustrations and irritations like he'd been seeing, not just in Markus' forces but in some of his own grey knights as well, particularly since Perseon had been killed. Perseon had a gift of infinite patience, and he could keep his people occupied between missions in such a way that they never felt idle. Syrus was _not_ Perseon, much as he'd been called upon to fill those rigid shoes.

He activated his vox bead and spoke to both his second and leader of his honor guard, and Markus' personal assistant both at the same time, "I have decided on a course of action. We cannot strike back directly at the assassin interlopers, and neither can we presently locate our true targets in this system. We will not sit and do nothing, and therefore I'm calling a council of all ranking grey knight and inquisitorial forces aboard the Lance Glorificus. We have a target, and we will begin preparations to fight it until such time as our resources or luck returns to us. Meet in preparation room fourteen, Syrus out."

He felt better already, he'd barely realized just how much the waiting was grating on him, but the wait was finally over. The daemon hunters were going to war!

* * *

Author's Comments: This is the eleventh chapter in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq), which I did not invent.

I apologize for how long it's taken me to update recently. I have had difficulty with inspiration due in large part to a falling out between me and the community. The people there are for the most part great and very helpful for a writer like me, but circumstances have not allowed me to continue with their site. I have no intention of stopping updates on this story, but it could get a little rough, so bear with me. Thanks!


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